


landfall

by coppertears



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Office Worker!Kyungsoo, Past!Kyungsoo/Sehun, Romance, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, erf, past!Kyungsoo/Suho, side!Chanyeol/Baekhyun - Freeform, stripper!kai, w: lapslock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 06:03:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 41,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7348045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coppertears/pseuds/coppertears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>jongin's a hurricane, and kyungsoo's ignored one storm warning too many.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [duqingzhu](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=duqingzhu).



> For duqingzhu's erf bid. If anyone can lead him/her here, it will be much appreciated.

thunderstorms are beautiful.

some nights, kyungsoo finds himself out on his balcony, watching the way lightning forks aside the clouds. the wind likes to play hide and seek in the soft billowing of his pajamas. he doesn’t do anything except lean against the railing, raising his face up to the sky and savoring the droplets of rain that creep down his face.

during these moments, the earth smells of life. it smells of the sun-baked road and warped metal and moss settling on patches of pavement. it reminds him of black umbrellas springing up to face the downpour, droves of people tracing the city lines toward their destinations, feet pounding street and cars leaking gasoline all over the highways.

he always feels calm when the thunder consumes the sounds of souls weathering the storm. there, on that balcony, there seems nothing grander than the sky opening up to flood the metro with its oceans.

kyungsoo closes his eyes. the thunder rolls over the noise of the traffic and climbs into his ears. he stays there until the hems of his pajamas are soaked and his hair’s a ruffled mess, and the beeping of his clock tells him _work tomorrow, don’t be late._

thunderstorms are fleeting. but kyungsoo’s always known that the most dangerous, the scariest things possess an innate kind of beauty, spilling out of the cracks of their existence. and like all things that are hard to take hold of, that are beyond the point of saving, they never last.

 

 

his mornings are spent in the boxed-in, generic floors of order found within the steel-and-glass wombs of skyscrapers. it's hard to tell what he does in a place that's built out of sameness, an industry that makes machines out of people, shoves them into cubicles and cuts away all the rough edges to leave them shiny and pink and dull with monotony. it's even harder to figure out its relation to the diploma framed and plastered on some wall in his parents' house, dusty with signatures so mechanical, so trite. 

he prints documents. he gathers them all up in a stack that some other unit comes to sweep away. he types on his desktop computer and inputs data and comes up with plenty of papers and graphs and presentations. at noon, he takes the subway downtown where food is sold dirt-cheap in stalls rickety with the climate and constant police tear-downs. it saves him a few dollars, and the dishes have some semblance of taste and texture. once he's done with his lunch, he's back at the office, filing, making sachet-ready coffee, and typing some more.

kyungsoo knows he's lying when he tells his parents at least once a week that he loves his job -- he appreciates it, at most, because it's stable and the pay is good and he climbs the ranks fast. his parents also know he's lying, which they make clear with pitying smiles.

he always has the phone on the cradle before they can move on to topics he can't even bring himself to think about.

when his shift ends, he walks out into the hallways with his fingers looped through the handle of his briefcase. each floor is paneled with glass walls that look out onto the rat race scampering along the city streets. before he takes the elevator to the ground floor, kyungsoo likes to watch the human sea, how it swerves past lampposts and how bits of it fall into cars. he likes the steady flow of it, the rise and the fall, the pavement alive with a longing for each footstep on its way.

it's usually at this hour that his phone buzzes with a message from his friends. maybe it's an invitation to hang out, or get buzzed, or some celebration for something worth celebrating. kyungsoo says yes. kyungsoo says no. kyungsoo says maybe, and his former college roommate chanyeol goes on about how the earth is round and the ground is miles deep and that kyungsoo's too cryptic for a business major. kyungsoo never knows what the last part means, but that doesn't matter because chanyeol doesn't, either.

these days, it's getting colder. the sun's starting to hide in the skirts of the universe, and he starts donning a thermal shirt, boots, a coat, a scarf, and a pair of gloves. the heater in his apartment thrums when he's asleep. he stops walking to the subway station and takes the bus, where there are never enough seats and the aisles and hand rails are too cold. the little old ladies like to tell him about cookies and their grandkids. kyungsoo nods whenever appropriate. 

almost a year into his employment at the company, he gets a position that comes complete with its own office and influence and personal secretary. in that space, he sits on perhaps the comfiest leather chair known to man, and thinks of a snowflake melting in the heat of the fireplace.

that's when jongdae calls. that's when the thunderstorm begins to brew.

 

 

there are four of them: kyungsoo, chanyeol, jongdae and baekhyun. they aren't oddly-shaped swatches sewn together into a quilt of friendship, warm and cozy with the thought of lasting longer than the moth balls curled up in the dark corners of closets. kyungsoo likes to think of him and his friends as the teacups in theme park accelerators, spinning faster and away, but always drawn to the same center. some electrostatic force binding them, like silk-soft threads wrapped around flesh and heart, unwinding with each step they take, but holding tight to where they began.

kyungsoo's an inconsistent appearance at the fresh-out-of-college reunions, but when anyone in the circle calls to meet up, he's there. this is his center. so on the afternoon that jongdae calls, his number still unchanged after all the years that have dived into the waters, kyungsoo agrees to see him down at the lobby of the building. 

he glances at the calendar. it's the 12th of january, the square of it quivering with white. nothing special. no mark. but he knows what it means, what its significance is, and why it's the reason for jongdae's call -- kyungsoo's 24th birthday, quiet, tiptoeing into the room with the shadows of age. 

he hadn't mentioned it to any of his colleagues or his superiors, not even to his secretary. at age eight, he'd decided that the entire thing was absurd and he'd rather not have to deal with the circus of being congratulated for something he had not done himself. but his friends had hooked it out of him a long time ago, thrown in the bait and reeled the information out of his throat. kyungsoo was too bemused to ask for it back; he let them keep it, let them plan parties and pop bottles open just as long as it wasn't anything grand.

he expects nothing different from his friends this year. it's funny how he keeps pretending he has no idea, and how they keep pretending they're capable of pulling off a surprise. it's worth it, if only for the conceited grins that stretch their lips apart because they think they've done a good job of keeping everything a secret. 

when the clock strikes five o'clock, he packs up all of his things and folds his coat over his forearm. his tie is still knotted in place -- a contrast, he thinks, from baekhyun and how his careless friend's fingers trip, lazy, through the knot and mess it up right before an important event. he remembers prom nights, glazed with moonlight and dusted with stars, kyungsoo and chanyeol always the ones in clean-cut suits while jongdae and baekhyun turn up in some modern interpretation of the tuxedo. 

he wonders what they have in store for him.

last year it had been beer pong by the beach, a firework effort lit up at the last minute when kyungsoo had been about to board the subway home. chanyeol had cuffed him round the neck and carried him to jongdae's car, baekhyun chortling from the passenger's seat, and they'd driven through the sunset pooling orange on the asphalt. kyungsoo had gotten no more than pleasantly buzzed, watching the three of them pull out a squashed chocolate cake from the boot and singing _happy birthday_ in different pitches. he'd laughed, had gotten icing on his cheeks, had waded through the water in his suit. 

kyungsoo nods at his secretary as he leaves his office. she's young, just a couple of years out of college though her cool demeanor doesn't betray it. the name tag clipped on her blouse reads _jung soojung_. she does her job well, is efficient, but is perhaps a tad too silent for a secretary. baekhyun's given him an earful about how monosyllabic and vague her answers are, but kyungsoo likes her silence. he thinks he needs a lot of it, considering what his friends are like.

when he arrives at the lobby, jongdae is nowhere to be seen. kyungsoo doesn't think much of it. this is all part of the game, anyway, the surprise a gangly giraffe hiding behind a potted bonsai or some other awkward metaphor. they like pulling a stunt straight out of those b-grade television shows when it comes to hauling him off to whatever it is they've planned. 

he walks out the building doors, thinking if there's anything that's supposed to happen, it should happen now.

the traffic crawls on the highway stretched out in front of him. people trickle down the avenue, fresh out of their jobs, legs blurring as they move forward and forward, heads bent, phones out. kyungsoo raises his eyebrow when there's no loose-limbed giant putting him in a sack and throwing him onboard a sportscar with all of the flash and none of the mileage. he shrugs his shoulders. perhaps they're waiting at the subway.

then someone claps a handkerchief over his nose and mouth, and there is a blindfold tied over his eyes, and before kyungsoo can scream, his consciousness is dipped in black.

 

 

"hey, kyungsoo, you should wake up."

kyungsoo jerks into a sitting position. he's just about decided to kick his kidnapper in the stomach when he realizes that it's baekhyun, grin a silly light bulb sitting on his lips. he settles for kicking him in the shin.

"what the --"

"idiots," kyungsoo mutters, though a smile does prod at his face. he's in the backseat of jongdae's car, baekhyun just about curled up into a ball in the space beside him, chanyeol laughing in the passenger's seat with his face contorted in all directions. jongdae's laughing along, hands on the wheel and foot heavy on the gas enough to run an orange light a second before it turns red.

"where are we going?" kyungsoo asks, noticing now that his tie's been loosened and his coat's a crumpled heap on the floor. "hey, you're paying for the dry cleaning."

"we'll get you a new one," jongdae says, waving it off. "and you'll see."

"you know, one of these days," kyungsoo says, leaning back in his seat and taking in the streaks of scenery along with the steady fade of the grimace on baekhyun's lips, "someone's going to think that you're legitimately committing a crime, and instead of sailing off to wherever it is you plan on taking me, we'll be sitting in the district jail."

"well," jongdae says, "then we'll have to tell them that they really shouldn't be sticking their noses in other people's business."

"maybe we can work out something where you don't have to blindfold me in order to throw a surprise," kyungsoo says, though he can see from the reflection on the side view mirror that jongdae's smile is one that promises mischief.

"maybe," is all the cat-eyed man says, before one of chanyeol's favorite songs comes on and the tall man yells along.

jongdae turns down a road running opposite to the way to the beach, so kyungsoo discards that option. it's not like his friends repeat surprises, anyway -- at least, they don't repeat them when the memory of the last time is still fresh. he peeks his head out of the window, tastes the breeze that grazes his cheek, and tries to guess at what they now have in store.

they plunge into a network of roads that intersects with a number of pedestrian lanes. the body count here is high, thick even, the atmosphere ripe with celebration. he sits up straighter in his seat and tunes out jongdae's impromptu duet with baekhyun. his friend's driving too fast for him to make out the signage flashing by, but a momentary pause at a forked road to let people pass clues kyungsoo in.

"jongdae," kyungsoo says, his voice measured, "are we heading downtown?"

"i'm not letting you off," jongdae says. the glance he throws over his shoulder at kyungsoo is filled with mirth.

"what are you planning?" kyungsoo asks. 

''you'll see."

dread pools in kyungsoo's stomach. he's far from being one of those people who's sworn to stay sober their whole lives through; neither is the concept of clubbing foreign to him. but jongdae's heading to the part of downtown that's veiled in shadows, an area that kyungsoo's heard a lot about but has never come near to. the problem isn't that he holds this kind of place in contempt -- the problem is what jongdae expects him to do at that place. 

"kyungsoo?"

"yes?" kyungsoo says, trying to not let the uneasiness leak out of his words. he fails, but the people in the car aren't interested in that, anyway.

"relax."

and with that, jongdae swerves into the entrance of an underground tunnel.

 

 

it's been minutes since they've arrived in this...place. kyungsoo's not quite sure what to call it, because then that means that whatever jongdae's expecting to happen is going to happen, and he's not prepared for that, not yet. lights are flashing and the world is moving, and he settles back into the couch, his hand swirling a shot of some rainbow-colored liquid that chanyeol had shoved into his hands. he watches as his friends goof around, the alcohol streaming into their veins only serving to remove the shreds of shame that sneak around their consciousnesses. jongdae nudges him with an expectant look. kyungsoo sighs and downs the shot.

it slides down hot, blazing an ache along the walls of his throat and sputtering to life in his stomach. he ignores the sensation, hopes that one shot's enough to get jongdae off his back for the next few hours, and turns his gaze to the dance floor. the music's shaking the club's walls but no one's here to attempt to stay steady. it's not like kyungsoo's got a stick up his ass and he doesn't have any idea how to relax; but it's a work night, and it's a little too suffocating in here, and he's coming up with way too many reasons to leave. he understands that his friends want him to loosen the proverbial tie around his neck. and maybe there's some part of kyungsoo that can, maybe there's some part of kyungsoo that _has_ , in the past.

if he takes a minute to be honest, though, it's not exactly the place or the atmosphere that bothers him -- it's the circumstances. this isn't an ordinary night club. jongdae, chanyeol, baekhyun and a bunch of their other friends who are all draped around the couches or leaning against the bar or lost in the mess of the dance floor -- they don't have ordinary tastes, either. and kyungsoo's well aware that he's stuck in the same in-between as they are, wavering on the gray instead of on the black or the white, oblivious to the lines wrapped around their feet but toeing them all the same. still, he's never wanted to do anything about it, not in the way that they have. 

he waves away chanyeol as the taller guy attempts to pass him another shot, muttering some excuse about going to the bathroom. baekhyun laughs in his ear at that. "down already?" he shouts over the bass. kyungsoo shrugs and gets up, ignoring jongdae's tugs at his arm, and makes his way around the dance floor to the cramped, red-carpeted hallway leading to the bathroom.

halfway there, though, he spots a door left ajar down another hallway branching off of the main one. without any actual thought, kyungsoo turns towards it. it's hard to breathe in here, surrounded by the things that he doesn't often roll around in his thoughts until they're smooth and worn down. even harder to take in is the way the music laps around the room like the waves to the shore, a constant, pulling motion that drains the energy out of kyungsoo; and the alcohol, flowing, a dead weight in his stomach even if he hasn't drunk much. the reflective steel of the doors shows him that a flush is beginning to set in.

the cool air, he thinks, will be a relief. he reaches the open door and steps out into what looks to be an alley running along the back of the night club. it's quiet out here, a decrescendo unwinding parallel to the noise inside the club, and the drop in volume starts up a ringing in his ears. he takes a deep breath, lets the air swirl around in his lungs as though the mass of it gathered in this nameless back street is enough to clear the toxins in his system. there are dumpsters lined up against the brick wall climbing up towards the blue-black stomach of the sky. he thinks if he looks hard enough, he'll make out the silhouettes embedded into the darkness, see the dregs that pool in the bottom of the city. 

there's a movement to his right, and in moments, kyungsoo's guard is up. he swivels and takes a step back to see the source of it. time has unwrapped itself from the tightly wound spool of his thoughts and he no longer knows if it's an hour when knives gleam behind sinister smiles and agile fingers, and gunshots form a backing track to the music holding up the walls of this district. next to the open door, a shadow detaches itself from the wall and moves into the light, and at the sight, kyungsoo is reminded of where he is and what his friends' intentions are. 

a man stands in front of him, dark hair mussed over eyes smoked out with eyeliner, a sharp jaw, a confident smirk. collarbones diving into a strip of leather that's only wide enough to cover the stripper's chest. his pants are white, and a single band of silver is wrapped around his arm, a symbol resembling a triangle etched into the metal. but none of the strappings and the cosmetics are enough to hide the youth that outlines the stripper's stance, that second skin of discomfort hunching his shoulders that little bit forward and that sliver of tension pulling his forearm taut, despite how it looks almost predatory. it is self-confidence worn in enough layers to signal that something is being hidden from the gaze of onlookers.

but it dives under just as quickly as it appears, and soon the discomfort and tension fly in the face of a smirk turned a notch down from an arrogant come-hither. "good evening," the man says, his voice smooth, deep, and the words are soft but they pulse with more meaning than the songs that kyungsoo can hear faint snippets of even from here. "were you looking for something?"

the implication is clear, and if kyungsoo had had any doubts about this man being who he thinks he is, those are gone now. he curses his friends, curses jongdae (mostly) because he's always the mastermind, curses the aberrations in the universe that had occurred when he'd let slip to his friends that he wasn't interested in the opposite sex. the stripper is gorgeous, yes, but kyungsoo doesn't want it like this, and on his birthday of all days.

"air," he says, trying to skew the tone enough so it doesn't sound like he's snapping at the man, because it's really not his fault that kyungsoo's friends are assholes. they're sweet, at times, but they're almost always assholes so it's not like he can really count the sweetness as part of how they usually are. 

the stripper cocks his head and shifts in place. kyungsoo can see a question brewing in the depths of those eyes, something that looks a lot like, _then why are you here?_ and kyungsoo really isn't in the mood to dive into an entire storytelling session that begins with his trio of asshole friends and ends with them, too, and all of the (regrettable) decisions that he's made in between, all leading up to this moment.

"what's your name?" he asks, because out here it's cold, and he's 24 but sometimes it still feels like he hasn't learned the ways to tuck in the little pockets of loneliness that peek out when there are no thunderstorms to disturb the night. he's not really expecting an answer -- that's too much to expect here where people become one tangled mass of non-identity to hide all the sins thrumming through their veins. 

"you can call me kai," the man says, and though there's that slightest bit of upturn on his lips, his eyes seem flat. they're blank canvases of brown, direct contradictions to the openness he's trying to project.

kyungsoo takes in the careful phrasing. it's not his real name, then, simply something for him to throw about to prying questions when he's in this line of work. he nods to acknowledge the answer. "and why are _you_ here, kai?"

he notes the beat of silence that follows after, the unspoken feeling of kai appraising him. he wonders if the other man will ask him what his name is, in return.

"the stars," kai says at last. "wanted to see them for a bit." he deliberates for another moment, and then asks, "what are you called?"

it takes kyungsoo a split second to decide on an alias. "d.o."

"alright, d.o.," kai says, tasting the name on his tongue. kyungsoo shivers. he thinks it's the cold, but the reason may also be a man whose youth doesn't hide how attractive he is, and how he's exactly the type of guy kyungsoo's eyes are drawn to. "if there's something in particular that you want, i can give it to you."

just like that, the atmosphere shifts between them. kyungsoo feels the heat in his gut at the implication, the embarrassment trickling alongside it, and the irritation at the kind of company he keeps who are twisted enough to bring him to a strip club. kai is a whole lot of attractive, and then some, but kyungsoo really doesn't want a one night stand to ornament his 24th birthday like some obnoxious marker of the wrong turns he's taken in his life. 

"i don't want anything of the kind that you're thinking of, unfortunately," kyungsoo says, trying to be as clear as he can be. "i'm just here trying to forget that, while i do appreciate my friends, all of them are assholes who drag me along according to their whims." he tips his head in the direction of the hallway, and the main club floor at the end of it. "if you want to keep doing your business, you'll have better luck inside."

kai is quiet for all of five seconds, then a smile appears out of the fullness of his lips and he chuckles. "you're a decent guy. can't imagine how you got dragged here if it's not your thing." he tucks his hands in his pockets. "well, d.o., i'll be going back inside to 'keep doing my business' as you put it. it's safer in there, though, than out here, i promise. so you probably should come in with me." with that, he turns around and walks back down the hallway.

kyungsoo's eyes trace the lines of kai's body and follows the looseness of his gait. he glances back at the empty back street, and though he's not ready to be washed back ashore into the land of depravity, he knows that kai's right. and so he closes the door behind him and trails after the stripper.

 

 

whatever sense of peace that kyungsoo's managed to gather during the time he'd spent in the open back door of the club is gone once he's back in the thick of undulating bodies and loud, rhythmic music. the walls are all falling down and writhing around him, and he can't quite escape the way chanyeol resembles static cling wrap over his shoulders, long limbs like chains that hold him beneath the surface. jongdae pulls him close enough for about thrice the number of shots he's managed to down the entire night, and baekhyun joins in with handfuls of eye smiles and thin lips curled over teeth, his relentless chatter a steady beat underlying the haze of the dj-spun tracks on the dance floor. kyungsoo, well, he's buzzed, right down to the core of his body, and it's a hundred kinds of warm but also a thousand states of dizzy, the colors blending into each other until they become a hulking mass that kyungsoo can't be bothered to unravel. he finds himself leaning against the bar countertop with a plate of cake in his hands, the candle stuck in it flickering yellow and throwing light onto his lap. 

"don't," he manages to get out of his mouth, the shapes of the words feeling unwieldy on his tongue, "don't sing."

jongdae grins, cheshire cat-like, and he's drunk so much more than kyungsoo but somehow he's the steadiest out of his friends. beside him, chanyeol and baekhyun and the rest of the entourage wear identical expressions of glee.

kyungsoo rolls his eyes when they burst into song, in a volume that makes them heard over the club music, enough so that soon the rest of the club goers are singing along even if they don't necessarily know who it is that they're singing for. he blows the candle just to stop the inevitable chanting for him to do so, and takes a bite. he's sure that maybe he's supposed to contemplate the flavor of the cake, its creaminess and the subtle hint of rum, but he doesn't, because that's not his job. tonight, his job is to feel the weight of all of the minutes that tow him to 24. and it's easy to feel it when the room spins -- when it's a carousel of lights and skin and cloth, when it's the press of a hip against his ass and an arm over his shoulders, when the lasers slice right into the musk of bodies too close and air too dense. 

somehow he ends up on the edge of the dance floor, his stomach churning. for three minutes, he contemplates the absurdity of his life decisions, but soon loses that train of thought because no one who is smashed enough to unravel at the seams can be expected to maintain the tracks of any train of thought that comes along. 

"got one last gift for you," jongdae half-shouts into his ear. 

kyungsoo's past the point of lobbing a rejection right back at him, his shirt soaked through with a mixture of sweat and beer. along one side of the room, a show is starting, just one of the many that's gone on all night, but it's the first time that kyungsoo's paid it any attention. he feels the trail of his tongue over his lips, as though the motion is disconnected from his body, and his thoughts amble down the road of about a couple of hours ago, landing on the memory of certain stripper with eyes that promise to sink him. he wonders where kai is, wonders if maybe he's enough miles out of sanity to pin the blame on the alcohol once he's paid the price and shoved the bills down those pants and kissed the hesitating flicker of cockiness right off of those lips.

he feels an arm cradle his waist and tug him upwards -- _chanyeol_ , he thinks, because the grip is strong and secure, and chanyeol's the only one of his friends who can carry him like that -- and he's maneuvered out of the main bar and down the hallway. a sharp left, somewhere before the bathrooms, and a red door. the path comes to kyungsoo in flashes, now, his mind too foggy to render them in high definition and crank up the vibrancy: gold-framed pictures on the walls, dim yellow lights, splashes of red, a vase of flowers, the brush of fingertips, another open door. there is a table, and a clock spitting neon green, and velvet, and silk sheets. there is a bed, and kyungsoo thinks, _oh_. he thinks, _i am sleepy_. he thinks, _is this paid for?_

"it's been paid for already," he hears jongdae say, and he must have followed kyungsoo and chanyeol to wherever this is. "you've got until noon tomorrow. enjoy, kyungsoo."

"my things," kyungsoo says. he flops onto the bed once chanyeol settles him down on the mattress. the world tilts, sharpens, then snaps back again to a blur. he can pick out three figures backlit by the light from the hallway, but he can't find the energy to pick out who they are from everyone that jongdae's brought tonight. "gotta tell soojung. i'll be out -- what hotel is this?"

"oh, it's not a hotel," jongdae says in a tone that sounds like he's waving away kyungsoo's worries and questions. 

"not a hotel?" kyungsoo repeats. the sheets feel so smooth, so soft against his cheek. he nuzzles into a pillow and closes his eyes.

"you'll understand," jongdae says, his words colored by an emotion that kyungsoo can't put a finger on. 

he takes a breath when he hears the door shut. the room smells like vanilla, like home on a day dripping with sun and dew, like the white roses that soojung arranges in the vase on his desk for show. it's been so long since he's felt anything close to the way he feels at the moment, body limp with the lack of concerns and fly-by-night emails and the phone on the kitchen counter beeping with voice messages from his parents halfway across the country. he lets himself drift down the familiar, gentle river leading him to his dreams.

but then there is another weight on the bed, causing kyunsoo's pillowed face to tip over, like one side of a set of scales holding a rock to the other side's feather. he feels a breath, soft on his neck like a whisper, and fingers, dragging coal down the length of his torso, and lips, careful along the line of his jaw. he isn't one for things like this, for one night stands that develop under hazy waters, where from below everything is bright with edges fading out into darkness, because up close it's cold and mundane. up close, it goes against his lifelong itch to build walls buried inches into the ground, with those barbed wire warnings defying every attempt to scale and push and break. right now, though -- right now, the alcohol has slipped a filter over his vision and his hands don't have any coordination left in them. so when he tries to push, he pulls instead, and kyungsoo sets about convincing himself that directions have never been his strongest point when the world's a mad whirl of colors.

a thought springs up, lazy, about fires, and the calculated way they return objects to the origin of their existence. he feels a bit like he's being pulled to the core, baptized into believing that he is, once more, witnessing the first years of the earth and its endless motions to rewrite the past. those lips must have charted a course across the terrain of his being, because they have set out, up north where he feels a gentle exhale ruffle the strands of his hair long enough to cover his forehead. fingers tighten around his shoulders, and -- it makes kyungsoo frown, even though as a child he's watched the way flames refuse to be controlled, and he lasts through a kiss grazing his cheek before he rolls the invading body over and leans over it, hands square on the pillow and knees planted onto the sheets.

he opens his eyes and sees the same face he saw in the back alley, though instead of sharp angles incongruent to the sponge-dabbed silhouettes of buildings born to crumble, it seems at home instead with hair fanned out like a steadily darkening sky and lips stained with the red of debauchery. surprise lights up kai's eyes for a second, enough so that kyungsoo imagines a moon shifting from new to full in his irises, but then it settles right back down. his fingers are still chains around kyungsoo's shoulders.

but the air changes, somewhat -- shifts direction, the very nature of it so different from what it was before, and instead of the disconcerting press of dominance and tension and electricity, there is instead submission. when kyungsoo brushes his knuckles against kai's jaw, he feels how pliant the young man's body is, how relaxed and willing. and for some reason, it sends a feeling through him, sharp; not arousal, but satisfaction, the feeling of the world being right and stable instead of unpredictable and upside-down, like kyungsoo has an ocean beneath his palms but it listens to him no matter how ancient it is. in that instant, his mind clears, and he realizes where he is and what his intentions are, and he pulls off.

he can almost sense kai radiating uncertainty, his dilemma over what to do now. kyungsoo takes a deep breath to find his way back to the surface. "please don't," he says. "i meant what i said earlier."

"you said a lot of things earlier," kai says, his voice trying to be rough and seductive, but instead it comes off as _young_.

"the part," kyungsoo starts, fumbles, because the alcohol's not giving him the exact words, "the part about not wanting to do this kind of thing."

there is a touch on his arm, but there's no longer that bone-deep smolder now that kyungsoo's regained his sense of self. "if it's a concern, this has already been paid for."

kyungsoo frowns. "i don't remember paying for this."

"must be because you didn't," kai says, and kyungsoo glances sideways at him to see a a grin, filled with white teeth and playfulness. "your friend did. paid for, oh, until noon tomorrow."

and, well. shitty friends he has, really, kyungsoo concedes as he tries to find the strength to sit up. "go home, kid."

"i'm not a kid."

"there, you sound like one," he says. he prods his upper body into action, and though his arms don't quite do a good job of supporting him, he manages to push his limbs into a sitting position and leans his head back. 

"i can't," kai says, after a pause where he rustles to copy the way kyungsoo settles over the sheets. "this is the part of the club reserved for these, um, activities." in what little light there is coming from a red silk-shaded lamp by the bed, his entire form is softer, resembling smudged charcoal. "and, well, it's the client who goes _out_ , so to speak."

"then i'll leave," kyungsoo decides. he tries to swing his legs over enough to find the floor and get off of the bed, but for some reason, the muscles in his body have all joined together in an effort to stay right where they already are. "what --"

"i can assist you," kai offers, "but the manager of this place will see this through the cameras and think i'm driving clients off, even if they've already paid, and well. also, i think your friend's pretty serious about this. he might just bring you back."

kyungsoo groans and slumps against the pillows. of course, jongdae would. why are they friends again? 

"change of plans, then," he says, closing his eyes, because now that the fire has been extinguished, he feels sleepy again. "i stay here but only to sleep, your boss doesn't get mad at you, my best friend doesn't try his crazy schemes on me, you get to rest for the next few hours, and i get to avoid the reality of a hangover."

he figures it's an acceptable proposition, but kai's silence clues him in on his hesitance. "look, maybe you've got some weird sense of duty or whatever, but i really don't do this kind of thing, kai." saying his name is natural, false as it may be. kyungsoo's tongue is used to spinning out lies, anyway. 

"well," kai says, after a long moment, when kyungsoo's eyes begin to droop. "i guess i could use a rest."

"good," kyungsoo says, and he soon is no longer able to say anything more.

 

 

hangovers are not pleasant things to wake up to, kyungsoo decides. neither are warm bodies made of landscapes of skin that is no stranger to both sea and sun, shadows tripping down the dip of the back and the hills of the spine, sloping down beneath the innocence of white sheets. his hands are somehow tangled in soft, black hair, and he's about an inhale away from a face adorned with long lashes and lips that are meant to be kissed, and kyungsoo really does not want to be having these thoughts after a night drowned in alcohol. not when this face, for all of its harsh lines and sharp curves, is a reminder of how blissful slumber is; not when this body, for all of its nakedness and for all of the wiry muscle packed within youthful skin, is one he has no claim over and one he has not navigated for years of his life, one that he has not put down in a map of the things he knows and learns to keep close.

but he doesn't know how to entangle himself without kai waking up. there is a clamor in his head and a sour taste on his tongue, and even though he's just lying here in a compromising embrace, the world is askew. there is too much effort involved just in blinking his eyes. kyungsoo makes a mental note to himself to hunt down his friends and glare them down until they beg for mercy; and then he begins to lift the arm that's wrapped around his waist. kai doesn't stir. kyungsoo rolls an ample distance away, replacing his body with a pillow, before he sits up.

which turns out to be one of the worst ideas he's ever had, because earth is off its orbit and kyungsoo's just as lost as it must feel, and there's this growing urge to empty the contents of his stomach onto the floor. he's too focused on keeping the bile down where it's meant to be, to notice the rustling behind him and what it implies, up until a hand settles, hesitant, on his back. 

kyungsoo thinks that if his brain weren't screaming at him to not paint the room in the colors of his vomit, he'd have spun right around at the touch and bent that wrist back. instead he settles for a groan that is ripe with all the notes of suffering, and not of those that are supposed to come from a man who's fulfilled his body's carnal desires. but, he supposes, that's likely because not a single carnal desire was fulfilled last night.

"i'll get you water," kai says, and his voice is rough but it's blanketed in softness. "and i think i have hangover medicine lying around, just wait a moment."

kyungsoo decides that if this is how 24 feels like, he'd really much rather turn the clock back to when he was 23 and hangover-free. he contemplates calling jongdae for the sole purpose of cursing him to oblivion, but decides against it when another wave of nausea hits him. he might well end up vomiting instead of displaying the wide array of insults he’s culled from years of pent-up frustration at his friends. with not much else to do aside from concentrating on not puking his guts out, kyungsoo lies back down. in the daylight, the room feels less mysterious, no longer a den of iniquity -- the cream of the sheets, the minimalistic interior, and the sparseness of future don't appear to be suggestive of the things that must have been done in this room.

his thoughts idly slide over to kai, and the strong line of his jaw that he finds himself wanting to trace over with tongue and teeth and lips; and then he shuts his eyes and sets about remembering the unique contortions of his best friends' faces in the aftermath of questionable life decisions, so he can bury those thoughts. it's the tiniest bit frustrating, because as much as kai is beautiful, as much as the dips and curves of his body call to kyungsoo in a way that makes him sit up and pay attention and want to be the only cartographer to have charted the entirety of kai, he's also just not that kind of person and he's usually able to tamp down his desires. sex, to him, is mechanical -- an act to get over with, a flash of fire that lasts only for as long as you are willing to let it. sure, he's been attracted to people before. he's kissed and been kissed, caressed and been caressed, let the waves wash over him without second-guessing his actions for a moment.

but that had been before. that had been in college, when experimenting was a way of life, a breathing exercise to get him through papers that pretended to be adept at dissecting issues and the exams he spent eight hours a day to study for. the occasional fling, hidden even beyond the knowledge of jongdae and baekhyun and chanyeol, had felt a lot like escape--a lot like a road trip out of adulthood and the responsibilities that came with it. 

there had only been two of them. kyungsoo kept count, he always did; it slotted right into the organization of his life, the certainty that the number of men he'd once held in the darkness was neither more nor less than two. 

junmyeon had been nice, pleasant, eager to cater to his whims. he'd drive kyungsoo to his dorms and walk with him to the entrance, and he'd lean over for a brief kiss before he said goodbye. he was safe. on saturdays he'd take kyungsoo out to dinner, and they'd take a stroll by the river, and at the end of the night they'd kiss but go no further. they'd drifted apart, eventually. on the one night that junmyeon became unpredictable, dangerous, downright angry, he'd accused kyungsoo of not really caring for him; and kyungsoo had stayed silent because he could not lie.

sehun had been the exact opposite of junmyeon. he whined and begged and demanded; he was younger than kyungsoo, and he used it to his advantage. when they were together he'd lay his head on kyungsoo's lap and tell him about his day. sehun had thought he was experienced. kyungsoo had never bothered to correct him. they lost their virginity on the same day, but sehun never found him out. kyungsoo felt a little more for him than he ever did for junmyeon; some nights he thought his heart skipped a beat when sehun would press his body against his back and embrace him and bury his face in the juncture between kyungsoo's neck and shoulder. but he was graduating, and their relationship was never one that could sustain the strain of distance and time, and so he waited until after sehun had finished his final exams to break up with him. sehun had cried. he'd upturned kyungsoo's sofa, and kyungsoo let him break his plates because it would never be as painful for him as it was for sehun. it was a full month before sehun managed to stop sending him drunk texts and calls that worshiped him one second and cursed him to hell the next.

he never kept in contact with either of them. in time he'd figured out that he was simply not one for relationships, had no extra emotion nor energy to expend on another person. the problem was that people often mistook his seriousness for earnestness; so they shaped him into someone else and tore down anything that they could have had together with their expectations. he'd sworn off any kind of intimacy, since. it always started off innocent -- that was how it went with junmyeon and sehun. junmyeon was his upperclassman who'd talk to kyungsoo during club meetings because he thought kyungsoo looked lonely. kyungsoo didn't even know how they'd gone from that to pseudo lovers, to the point that sometimes he slept in junmyeon's apartment and junmyeon would send him affectionate messages, until he fell right into a relationship because he couldn't turn around and say that all along it had been nothing to him. sehun had been the freshman that his professor had asked him to tutor, who'd flirted with him every session, until kyungsoo had been worn down enough to agree to a date. the date turned into date _s_. and then they were boyfriends, and sehun would blush whenever kyungsoo was near, and once again he was lulled into a relationship he'd never planned on having.

 _but kai's different,_ his mind supplies. _this is his job._

but that, well, that makes it worse, in kyungsoo's opinion. it's not like he's a fuck-and-run kind of guy. it's not like sex is the only thing he looks for. it's part of the equation, but not really -- just present in the sense that he doesn't dislike it, and he doesn't outright reject the notion of it. what he's looking for is companionship: someone to hug and go to bed with, someone to kiss but not to commit to, someone for him to share a higher level of intimacy with than simply being friends would allow, but not crossing over to romance and love and all of the things that he knows he's never been capable of giving. he wonders if maybe it's just a glitch in who he is.

so, no. even though the sight of kai makes the blood in his veins buzz, he won't pull anything. that's out of the question. now if only the headache can go away as well, so he can stumble his way home, though he does consider making jongdae pick him up since it's his fault the kyungsoo's stuck here in the first place.

"here, drink this."

kyungsoo blinks. kai is hovering over him, a glass of water in hand, a pill in the other. it takes him a full second before he remembers that kai had gone to get him hangover medicine. he tries to sit up, but kai shakes his head, and kyungsoo stares because _how is he supposed to drink the medicine, then?_

kai ignores his confusion. "open your mouth."

kyungsoo finds that suspicious but he's too tired to argue, and another wave of nausea hits him then, causing his mouth to fall open around a sound of pain. he wants nothing more than to curl up into a ball and close his eyes to the spinning world.

fingers brush against the inside of his mouth and kyungsoo's eyes fly open in time to see kai placing the pill on his tongue and holding out the glass of water to him. he groans, takes it, and leans up to drink enough water to wash down the pill.

"you have a couple of hours until check-out," kai says. "is there anything you want?"

kyungsoo tries to not read too much into that statement and fails. he screws his eyes shut again, counts all the way up to 50, and recalls his pressing need to be home and out of these clothes, and, _shit, he has work --_

"okay, whoa," kai says, frowning when kyungsoo attempts to roll out of bed. "easy. are you alright?"

"no," kyungsoo snaps. he thinks of the paperwork piled on his desk and how he's already late, how soojung must be at her desk as usual and puzzling over why he's not in yet. he curses his friends in his head, even though he knows that the one he must be cursing the most is himself, for downing shot after shot with little protest. regret is a sudden thing, slamming down hard and fast without any indication of its presence, and kyungsoo doesn't have enough time to brace himself for it.

the world is a merry-go-round when kyungsoo pushes himself upright, and for a horrible moment he thinks he might vomit. that will go down quite well, he thinks, an expensive night spent in a brothel without even actually taking advantage of said brothel's services, and the only traces he leaves of his coming and going is a puddle of his stomach's contents on the floor. he grimaces, the sourness at the back of his throat too strong, burning up what little is left of his voice.

"calm down," kai says somewhere behind him, and he feels hands pressing on his stomach -- _oh, god, he might really puke_ \-- and then he's back down on the bed, kai's legs on either side of him, and he's being pressed back to a shoulder with a hand rubbing soothing circles on his right thigh and the other hand firm on his shoulder. "calm down, the rest of the world's not going to run away if you sit for a few minutes and wait for the medicines to kick in, d.o."

 _d.o.?_ kyungsoo wonders. _who's that?_ but then he remembers his back alley conversation with kai, what feels like a century ago. "call me kyungsoo," he murmurs, because at this point he doesn't care anymore, and kai's shoulder feels comforting, though bony and sharp. "i have work to do, i'm late --"

"what's another 30 minutes?" kai points out. "you'll not get far like this anyway, with your hangover."

"how are you," kyungsoo says, struggling to find the words, "how are you... not feeling unwell? how do you even deal with alcohol?"

"i don't," kai says. his hands now rest, light, on kyungsoo's waist. "i take a few shots before my performances, sure, but the rest of the time i'm sober. helps with pleasing the clients." there's a cheeky lilt to that last sentence, and kyungsoo has this vague desire to crush it. punish him for that cheekiness, wipe that grin he knows is there on those soft, supple lips, make his mouth fall open with desire and frustration and unmet _need_ as kyungsoo marks his neck and reminds him of who owns him --

he blinks. hangovers are not supposed to work this way; alcohol is the usual instigator of these thoughts. what the _fuck_ is going on with him?

"what time is it?" he asks, trying to replace the scenario in his head with the blankness of the mundane. this is not the time nor the place to be lusting over strippers who take care of their clients' hangovers and run fingers through their clients' hair. 

"around ten thirty in the morning," kai says. "why, is there something else you need?" there is a deliberate suggestiveness to how his hand is now drifting over kyungsoo's nape, drawing mindless patterns on sensitive skin.

"for this hangover to go away," kyungsoo grits out. he wonders if maybe he should have just went to town last night, paint the town red and drink from the fountain of temptations, to discover what kai looks like without that mask he wears screaming of sex and dark promises. but kyungsoo has his boundaries. he has his rules. and no beautiful boy with a body meant to be worshiped and lips begging to be kissed will have him breaking them. 

"i can get you something to eat, if you want?" kai offers, and the concern in his voice is so apparent that kyungsoo is left to struggle to fit together the kai that makes him want to cast aside his guards and the kai that beckons to a protectiveness deep within him. there is a layer of youth in that sincerity, and even the gentle touches that kai bestows upon him are becoming less driven by sexual energy and more indicative of someone who hasn't quite seen the underbelly of the world yet. but he can't be fooled, he knows; there's a reason why kai is in here with him, why he knows kai as _kai_ in the first place.

"no," kyungsoo says, and he feels his fingers curl into his palm, forming a fist. "just... just stay here. like this."

it's when kai shifts beneath him that the realization hits in _fucking technicolor_ , that kai is still naked from head to toe, that the legs wrapping around kyungsoo are bare and if he pushes back just that tiniest bit...

"on second thought," kyungsoo says, trying to swallow around the heat pooling in his stomach -- a heat that confuses him, because since when was he this sensitive -- "i could do with some food." he needs kai out of here. he needs to be able to think of something other than kai's nakedness, before he does something he will hate himself for, and his hangover's still drumming away on the edges of his consciousness. 

"okay, then," kai says. he's careful as he unwraps himself from around kyungsoo and lays him down onto the pillows -- kyungsoo does his best to stop himself from staring at the way the muscles in kai's arms shift and flex, and then he almost draws blood when he bites too hard on his bottom lip after seeing the smooth expanse of kai's back and the brief glimpse of his crotch, and the slight bounce of his --

kyungsoo is not going there. kyungsoo is not thinking about it. kyungsoo has a hangover the size of asia and he is ready to dry-heave at any moment, and soon he manages to tear himself away from thoughts other than the taste of bile. 

the next thing he knows, there is an alarm going off somewhere beside his ear, and the feeling of fingers stroking his hair stops. he awakes to the absence of a headache and an urge to vomit all over the place. 

"you fell asleep," kai informs him. "didn't want to wake you. i did get you food, though, here."

"do i have to pay for these?" kyungsoo asks, eyeing the bread that kai offers him. his mind is clearer now, well-rested.

kai shakes his head. "it's fine. but your time's now up, and i have to go, as well. it's a shame we didn't get to really do anything last night -- hope that capped off your birthday celebration pretty nicely, though. even if you did get a bitch of a hangover." as he speaks, he puts on his clothes, and kyungsoo's glad that kai's not keeping eye contact with him because this time he can't look away. movement just seems to fit kai like an indistinguishable second skin, accentuating his attractiveness as though it's necessary to do so. as though kai is in need of any accentuating.

kai pauses as he opens the door, and flashes him a smile that is somehow both shy and seductive. "see you around, kyungsoo," he says, and then he's out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

kyungsoo sighs and reaches for his phone. there's no point going to work at this rate.

 

 

kyungsoo manages to avoid any and all discussion of his birthday sex (because truth be told, it never happened) whenever jongdae or baekhyun or chanyeol -- or god forbid, all three -- call him, by the very simple act of hanging up whenever he feels the conversation veering down that road. it's not as though he's not comfortable telling his friends up-front that they've wasted their money on a gift that kyungsoo just never bothered to take advantage of, but he knows they're going to whine and groan his ears off about it -- and as much as kyungsoo appreciates the presence of his friends in his life, despite the thorns in his side that they can be, he is also still in the process of recovering from that celebration. he doesn't thrive off of socialization, after all, the way the three of them do. it takes him time to open up, to warm to people, to express himself; and in that single night, he'd sped through all three stages. now he's dealing with the backlash that comes in the form of phantom aches in his body, and moments when a flashback disturbs the lazy flow of his stream of consciousness, and he feels his body curling in on itself in embarrassment and revulsion. 

he tries to not think of kai, and fails. it's a good effort, though. for the rest of the day after he leaves the club -- if anyone asks, _no,_ he does not take note of the _overdose_ marquee that will come alive with all the harshness of neon once the skies have washed down to navy blue, like some sort of north star for those whose thirst can only be quenched by alcohol and unnamed secrets; and he certainly _does not_ memorize the route leading to it -- he fixes his gaze on the horizon so his mind does not recall anymore details. but it's difficult. somehow, while a majority of his memories are blurry and blotted over until they are as unfocused as the bokeh prints sold a dollar a dozen at the corner store down the same street as his apartment complex, his interactions with kai stand out in sharp relief. they are in high-definition, blown up to silver screen-worthy resolution in the cinema of his mind, and he counts it as a personal triumph that those lapses don't take too long and don't go too far. 

it's really such a shame, he thinks, because kai, for all his self-assuredness, and the cockiness that's tight around his body like strings on a puppet, attains perfection when he is at his most vulnerable. the lost look in his eyes, the way his body falls onto the sheets, the spray of his hair and the softness of his mouth -- that brief flutter of innocence over him, like cloth that is yanked away before it truly drops to the floor, makes something in kyungsoo regret the moment he chose to step back. 

to know which places make kai sing, and how those brown eyes look at the peak, and the taste of the tongue peeking behind those lips -- well, now, kyungsoo will never learn, and it's a lesson he's halfway sorry he's missed.

he thanks god that his secretary had taken his absence in stride the day after his birthday. it made things easier, less awkward, when he'd called in and she'd already arranged everything without missing a beat; had told him to rest, and to deal with the paperwork piled on top of his desk come monday morning. and then friday had passed, as well, blending right into a saturday that kyungsoo greets with an inexplicable restlessness.

now he finds himself out of his apartment complex, on his own, for the first time in a long time. it's not as though kyungsoo never makes it past the door when work's not flaunting its hold over him, but there's a reason why he bulk buys his groceries and queues tv shows on his netflix subscription. people are easier to deal with when they are several feet away from him, with their noise and their physical contact contained at a safe distance. it's gotten to the point that his friends, unless it's on occasions like his birthday, don't bother to ask him to hang out anymore because they've heard him refuse way too many times. in any case, everyone knows that unless you're an asshole named jongdae or baekhyun or chanyeol, kyungsoo's not even going to answer your calls.

kyungsoo doesn't really have a destination in mind, but his fridge _is_ on its way to empty and his cupboards are no longer filled with the biscuits that kyungsoo likes to keep around in case he's too busy to whip something up for his midnight cravings, so his feet begin walking the familiar path towards the grocery store. it's still the middle of january, so the air has a bite left to it; he burrows his hands in the pockets of his parka and sniffs through his half-frozen nose to rid himself of the sensation of dryness that comes with the chill. up ahead, the yellow light of the bakery's storefront spills onto the grey slate of the pavement, and kyungsoo's just paused in his walk, trying to decide if he should maybe get those sausage rolls he likes and a couple of tarts, when the door swings open and a body crashes into him before the weak tinkling of the wind chimes reaches him.

the breath leaves kyungsoo in a puff of hot air that forms a cloud and dissipates. he feels hands scrabble for his waist to right him up, in the handful of seconds that he teeters between staying upright and smashing his head on the ground. he looks up to apologize for not paying attention, and to thank the stranger for catching him, when he realizes that the man he's looking up at isn't a stranger.

it's kai.

kai seems to recognize him as well, because his eyes widen for a fraction of a second before he settles right into an easygoing smile. in the open like this, without a touch of make-up or hair gel, kyungsoo is having difficulty believing that kai is legal enough to service customers in a club. the other guy looks relaxed, and he's carrying a cake box from the bakery.

"hey," kai says, eyes crinkling into crescents. "when i said i'd see you soon, i didn't think it would be this soon."

"hey," kyungsoo replies, and gulps down the flicker of guilt he feels when he remembers his fantasies about the stripper standing in front of him, even though it's probably all in a day's work for kai to get people to fantasize about him. he nods to the cake box. "was about to go in. what did you get?"

"birthday cake," kai says, raising the box a little for kyungsoo to see the blue piping on the top layer of the cake.

"ah, whose? your friend's?"

a corner of kai's lips quirks up. kyungsoo's gaze lingers on it for a few seconds longer than necessary. "mine, actually." there's a looseness to the way he shrugs and transfers his weight from his left foot to his right. 

kyungsoo blinks. so a mere day separates his and kai's birthdays. he wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of it, at their birthdays being so close together. instead, he smiles, and says, "happy birthday. did your friends book a club for you, too?'

kai grins, mischief dancing in his irises. "nah, i like to try new things."'

a shiver runs down kyungsoo's body. he hopes kai thinks it's because kyungsoo's sensitive to the cold, and not because there's an image in his head of what kai looks like without clothes on, and the promises that roll off of kai's tongue, and what kai can do if given the chance. he shakes his head a little to rid himself of that train of thought, switch the tracks to somewhere else. "true, i'd steer clear of my own line of work, too, when i'm celebrating."

"it would be a bit of a downer, i guess, to celebrate in your workplace. but doing what i do kind of feels like a celebration in itself," kai says, his lips settling into a softer smile."i mean, it's not exactly a dream occupation. but i really do love what i do -- it's liberating to perform like that in front of so many people, and i've always loved dancing, so."

"what about the sex?" kyungsoo blurts out, and then wishes for a wall to run into. by now the two of them have migrated to a spot in front of the shop window so they're not blocking the stream of people flowing into the bakery, and kyungsoo flinches when a few them send frowns his way.

he forgets about that when he hears kai laugh. it's not pretty, but it's also not ugly, and it's that in-between sound that makes it appealing, makes kyungsoo want to hear more so he can decide which one it is. it's odd, sometimes, the slight shift he sees in kai. there's that roughness to his edges, that confidence trailing after each step he takes; but there's also that youth, that innocence, rising to the surface in moments gentle like this one. he wonders what it must be like, prying away the pretenses that kai layers himself with, to make him _submit_ until he's willing and open and soft beneath kyungsoo's hands.

"the sex is a bonus," kai says, not bothering to lower his voice, and more frowns come their way. "i mean, yeah, that's nice, but what i'm really employed at the club for is stripping. i usually don't take requests for those anyway -- you were the exception," he winks at that, "because the manager told me it was a birthday gift, and i thought, hey, that's interesting, someone whose birthday is pretty close to mine. so i agreed, though you ended up not really taking advantage of that. stripping, though -- it's just this sensual way of moving, you know, and you hold people's gazes without much effort, and the spotlight's only on you, but it's also so intimate at the same time." 

another smile woven out of sunshine punctuates the end of that sentence, and kyungsoo has to inhale because it's in stark contrast to the lewdness of kai's words. he delivers the entire thing with such nonchalance that kyungsoo can't help but admire it, at the same time that it stirs something deep in him. he can imagine kai doing just that, in the clothes he'd worn the other night, dancing around a pole and taking off every single piece of clothing. always teasing, always not enough, always several meters away from it all becoming reality, for the hands touching every square inch of skin kyungsoo's own instead of kai's. his tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip. it's an unconscious action, but it's something that kai catches, and his smile morphs into a smirk. 

"you know, if you're into that," he purrs, voice velvet and low and husky in ways that speak of midnight caresses and a tumble amongst the sheets, and it makes kyungsoo simultaneously want to run and to come closer, "you should drop by overdose next saturday night. that's when i'm the featured star." he dips his head at an angle, enough to hide what he's doing while making it seem like a minor motion, something to discard along the sidewalk instead of rousing suspicion. his mouth is a mere breath away from kyungsoo's ear. hot air wafts down kyungsoo's neck as kai exhales, and he shivers, feels the heat burrow deep into his bones. "maybe you'll get to experience something to your taste."

he straightens up. kyungsoo is still wide-eyed, heart beating too fast and breathing harsh. he can barely lift a hand in farewell as kai cocks his head, raises the hand not holding the cake box, and walks away with a "see you soon."

kyungsoo stands there in a daze for quite a while, the thought in his head a looping, _this is all jongdae's fault._

 

 

kai's offer resounds in the back of his head throughout the weekend, even when he's tossing an omelette in the pan and taking a shower. so when monday rolls in, he pushes it beneath the piles of paperwork waiting for him at his desk along with a businesslike soojung, who rattles off to him every single thing he has to do for the week, and every single meeting he is obliged to attend. 

kyungsoo likes her no-nonsense, straightforward way of approaching work, and how deftly she balances it with life. at noon she taps on his door and opens it just enough to peek her head in and remind him to have lunch, and sometime in the afternoon, she brings him coffee without him having to ask for it, because by now soojung has catalogued his preferences and the requests he's likely to make at any hour of the day. kyungsoo's grateful for it, because the mountain of work soon becomes a landslide, and he has no time to even recall jongin's offer until friday afternoon. 

but he does, and it slams into him the way a particularly fast ball is thrown by a pitcher at a batter on the field. he's in the middle of initialing the last of the paperwork, with soojung hovering over him so she can take it up to upper management before the office closes for the day, and he pauses long enough for her to frown and question him if everything's alright.

"i -- yeah," he says, and refocuses on the paper, initialing the remaining couple of pages and handing the papers to her. she takes them, though not without a worried glance that kyungsoo pretends he doesn't see. when the office door clicks shut behind her, he takes a deep breath and leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as he convinces himself that there is no reason for him to go to that club tomorrow night. he has laundry to do, he reasons; and besides, he needs a bit of quiet time for himself.

somehow, it feels like there's no conviction in his decision.

when friday flips over to saturday, kyungsoo finds himself staring up at the ceiling. it's before 9 in the morning but he's awake anyway, thoughts a wispy cloud tangled up with the gray matter in his brain, and he turns to his left side to stare at the window and the patches of sunlight forming in the folds of the curtains that have fallen away. it's a big day, he thinks to himself.

with deliberate movements, he pushes himself up, places his feet on the floor, and stands up, rocking back a little on his heels to regain his balance. this morning he will make himself breakfast, clean the living room, and shower. that in mind, he opens the day with steam from a cup of just-brewed coffee, and butter-slathered pancakes that are feathery on his tongue. the living room is cleaner than he remembers it ever being, and all that's left to do is for him to sweep away the fine layer of dust on the furniture. kyungsoo washes the dishes, but there aren't a lot of them in the first place; so he trudges towards the shower, a whole two hours earlier than he'd originally planned. 

in the shower, he carves a to-do list on a bar of soap and mutters his planned schedule to the stream of water running down his body. there's another way to pass the time, he knows, but kyungsoo shoves its ugly head down whenever it rears up in the form of a devilish smirk and words spoken in husky tones. 

the rest of the day doesn't pass by in a blur -- it crawls at the pace of a tortoise and soon begins to bother him with its implications. as he watches the laundry tumble and spin, the cycle slapping water and soap suds against the glass cover, he tries to recite the alphabet to himself. but it doesn't work, and when it's only 4 PM but he's done hanging every piece of the laundry, kyungsoo is left vulnerable.

 _how bad can it be?_ his mind whispers. _it's your day off, anyway. it might be interesting to see._

he tells himself that the reason why he ends up donning the tightest black jeans he knows, along with a silver-edged black button-up shirt and a faded grey denim jacket, is because it's a club, and kyungsoo's not a slob. it has nothing to do with how the jeans accentuate certain parts of his anatomy, how black brings his pale, clear skin and red lips in focus, how he may fool himself into thinking that he's there to explore the club when all that's on his mind is a boy and the sins dancing beneath his skin. 

kyungsoo is one of the worst liars he's ever known, but he deserves a gold star for still trying.

 

 

 _overdose_ is neither more nor less intimidating than the last time he's been here. he hovers outside the entrance, not sure if he wants to psych himself into entering the club, or into walking the opposite direction and pretend he's never been in this area. the night is tainted with neon and smoke and the cloying scent of spilled liquor on the pavement. as the minutes limp by, he watches the steady stream of people flowing into the club. some are laughing in groups, the bright flashes of their smile cutting through the downtown haze of light pollution and car exhaust; others come alone, tense around their shoulders and steps measured, as though their bodies are working through a long-developed routine; and the occasional rough and jagged band of friends, with piercings glinting and leather clinging on to their silhouettes. 

it's a full 30 minutes after he's arrived that kyungsoo takes a deep breath and falls in line. in front of him is a couple too absorbed with each other, their foreheads touching and their arms around each other's waist, and kyungsoo wonders how they're managing to move without tripping or outbalancing. behind him is a particularly loud and tipsy group of friends, who must have done pre-game before coming over, and once or twice he gets bumped into. kyungsoo shakes off the hurried and insincere apologies. clubs aren't meant for those who despise physical contact, anyway, especially not a club like _overdose_.

the bouncer lets out an amused huff when he sees him, and mutters something that sounds like, "finally decided to go in." kyungsoo keeps his face blank as his id is scanned and he's ushered through.

it's a lot less disorienting this time around. but maybe it has to do with the upcoming performance, also, because the tables are arranged neatly around the staging. blue and red lights pulse in the corners with an undercurrent of violet. kyungsoo stumbles over to the bar for a couple of shots of who knows what, before he soon gets himself to head over to one of the tables. there's a decent crowd gathering, but he manages to snag an empty seat pretty close to the stage, and ignores his table-mates who are already all over each other's laps. he tries to not question why he's chosen this spot, when there's really no need for him to be front and center; it's not like kai's expecting him to be here, and it's not like he'll be looking for him. 

if he allows himself to be honest, though, it's more than that -- it's also this unshakable desire within him to see what kai's reaction will be _if_ he does see him, if his eyes land on him from his vantage point on the stage, if maybe kai's been anticipating his presence and if it will show. more than anything, he wants the brief flicker of recognition in the depths of kai's irises when he sees kyungsoo, because it sparks a heady rush through his being that he has yet to find an explanation for. 

there's the screech of a microphone and the steady dimming of the lights; and when kyungsoo blinks, the world around him has grown quiet (muted) as a silhouette emerges from a pool of purple lights. then the single spotlight is on, a cool bluish-white with hints of red, but what has kyungsoo's attention is the body draped on the throne with an arm perched, lazy, overhead, plucking from a bunch of grapes suspended in mid-air. there is something sensual about how the wrist flicks as it tears away a piece, and how the fingers press the grape onto lips plump and red, the tip of the tongue darting out to take it in, the burst of the juice as the teeth sink into the flesh of it and dripping down to the corner of the mouth, and the bobbing of the adam's apple along the smooth line of the neck. 

the man on the throne turns his head when the spotlight switches to red, and kyungsoo forgets to breathe. the look on kai's face is intense, his eyebrows drawn together and his lips still stained with the juice from the grapes, and as kyungsoo stares, kai's tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip. kyungsoo's grip tightens on the edge of the table. kai's eyes are smoked out even heavier than that night, what feels like such a long time ago, and his hair is up and mussed in a way that makes kyungsoo wonder what kind of activities he must have been up to after this. his clothes aren't skin-tight, but they're suggestive in a different way, all loose around his body and see-through and billowing, with the slightest hint of leather and skin peeking through.

and then he moves, and kyungsoo is lost. 

it's mesmerizing, how kai moves. it makes kyungsoo's throat dry and wish for something to drink as his hands caress his body, as his body twists and turns with a fluidity that invites certain thoughts, at how his fingers pluck the layers of fabric away -- never enough for him to be fully naked, just a little at time, and it's not like kyungsoo hasn't seen him naked before but this feels different. this feels intimate and forbidden at the same time, as kai dances and grinds and bites his lips, as he turns and bends and rolls his body. when his shirt is off and crawls on the stage with that goddamned smirk, kyungsoo fights every urge he has to run, because he can now see the leather harnesses running the length of kai's torso. he barely takes note of the cheering, the gasping, the lewd comments sent kai's way; because all that matters now is every flex of muscle in kai's body and the shifting of his skin, the way the leather chafes enough for kyungsoo to see the burn in the form of reddening outlines, and the cheeky way kai unclips every buckle.

the leather harnesses are all undone and kai's back is to the audience now, his bangs casting most of his face in shadow but his lips still in the unmistakable shape of a self-satisfied smirk. the light shifts, and his hands are hooked onto the belt loops of his pants, when he scans the room and catches kyungsoo's gaze.

kyungsoo only has a second to process the widening of his eyes, and then kai's smirk becomes even more pronounced, and he pushes his pants down along with a deliberate roll of his body. kyungsoo swallows. everything feels like a blur after that, the pants coming off second by second, the fluidity of kai's body as he continues to tease, continues to hold kyungsoo's gaze while kyungsoo tries to avoid it. and it feels as though kai's dancing for him, _stripping_ for him, calling to him all the way from the stage with every insinuation of his body, and it's a little too late but kyungsoo regrets that one night he chose to not take advantage of what the beautiful boy in front of him is offering. there's a knot in his belly and a fire blazing in his veins, and by the time kai is awash in darkness once more, he feels his cheeks tingling with a blush that he's sure will stay there for the next few minutes. he tries to not remember the eye contact with kai, every measured thrust of his hips and the soft golden gleam of his inner thighs, but that's nothing short of impossible.

he almost jumps out of his skin at the vibration in his pants pocket, but soon realizes it's because someone's calling him. at this point, kyungsoo's looking for any distraction so he pushes his way out of the tables, not bothering to stay for the next performer who's in an oversized champagne glass prop and submerged in bubbly liquid, answering the call as he goes. "hello?"

he doesn't quite realize that he's following the route to the back door of the club until he's out in the alley, the night chill burrowing into his bones.

"kyungsoo, where are you?" 

it's jongdae.

kyungsoo's blush returns in full force, at the same time as apprehension, because he's been trying to avoid jongdae's inquiries about that night. "i, uh, i'm home."

"really?" he hears the skepticism in jongdae's tone, and kyungsoo curses to himself. jongdae's not that easy to fool. "there's a lot of background noise, and i know you're not the type to hold house parties or have guests over."

"um," kyungsoo glances around, because _why_ does jongdae have to call at this time when his brain's still a scrambled black box of what kai will feel _beneath_ him, and he doesn't realize he's let out a garbled sound of distress until the phone feedback echoes it back to him along with jongdae calling his name in confusion. "i went out. to get groceries, yeah."

"did you really go out to get groceries? you sound really evasive for someone who only wants to stock up his fridge."

"i did, alright," kyungsoo insists, the nerves making his voice sound fluttery. there's that fire still in his bloodstream. "i definitely am at home after doing groceries, and not at a club watching a stripper's performance!"

he doesn't notice the rising of his voice, the desperation in it, and it's only when the phone returns dead silence to him that what he's just said sinks in.

"you're in a club --"

"bye, have a good night," he says, and ends the call. the phone rings again not even three seconds after but kyungsoo turns it on airplane mode, shoves it into his back pocket, and walks right back into the club again with the plan of slapping the embarrassment out of himself in the bathroom, maybe cool his face down with water, before exiting the club. running away has always been a life skill of his. he's sure jongdae will give him grief the next time he gets ahold of kyungsoo, that he'll tell chanyeol and baekhyun, that the three of them will be the bane of his existence for quite a while, but all he can think of is kai and that irrational part of himself that wants the both of them lying in bed, skin to skin and breath to breath. 

so when he bumps into the object of his thoughts partway down the hallway, kyungsoo thinks for a second that it's a hallucination. but then the shock wears off of kai's face and he's smiling -- this time excited, happy, though kyungsoo can't figure out why. his hand settles on kyungsoo's arm and soon he's steering them into a corner tucked away to the side, the two of them draped in shadows, and kyungsoo can't ignore the huskiness of kai's voice as he asks, "did you enjoy the show?"

kyungsoo contemplates evading the question, but there's a look in kai's eyes that tells him he's not getting out of this conversation, and so he settles for a flippant, "it was alright."

kai raises an eyebrow. "just alright?" somehow his hand has drifted down to kyungsoo's waist, and he's so close that their noses are touching. kyungsoo clenches his own hands into fists, and wills the wildfire raging inside him to simmer down. "i saw you from the stage. i think the expression you wore then meant more than 'just alright'." he laughs right into kyungsoo's ear, and it sends a thrill down kyungsoo's spine. "where are you going?"

"home," kyungsoo blurts out, because now there's that persistent voice in the back of his head telling him, _it's fine_ to run his hands up kai's arms, sweat-slicked and day-stained, and down his thighs, exposed in a pair of the shortest shorts that kyungsoo's ever seen in his life. he bites down hard on his tongue. "i'm going home."

"do you really want to go home now, kyungsoo?" kai's voice is down to a whisper but somehow it's the loudest sound that kyungsoo can hear right now, alongside his own hearbeat. "the fun's barely begun."

"i'm sure," kyungsoo says. his control's a fine thread and it's about to snap, and he's going to save himself from the agony of witnessing the ruins. "now, if you'll excuse me," he says, and removes kai's hand on his waist, beginning to brush past him.

in less than a second, than a breath even, kyungsoo's back is pressed to the wall and kai's hovering over him. he lets a smile, all sharp teeth this time and hinting of danger, lick clean across his mouth. "you're so fucking attractive," he purrs, his fingers now in kyungsoo's hair, "but i've got no patience for this game." 

and then he leans in, his lips soft and his tongue hot, his fingers curling into kyungsoo's scalp; and all kyungsoo can think of is _this is how kai tastes_ before it turns to mild irritation at their position, at how kai is weighing him down, and there's not much of a moment for him to process his decision to move until he's already moved, with kai now up against the wall and shock blending with the shadows creeping along his jaw.

"you wish," he hears himself growl, and he sounds foreign, he sounds like he's not himself, he's acting like he's not himself, but he's pressing a leg between kai's thighs until they come apart to either side of him, their torsos pressed together, and he knows the grip he has on kai's waist and his jaw must be bruising but he's not thinking of that anymore. he's not, because their mouths are pressed together again, faces angled the way kyungsoo wants, and he's nipping at kai's lower lip the way he's always thought of doing since kai bit his lip during his performance. there's something about kai and his scent, the noises he makes and the arms he has wrapped around kyungsoo's neck and the shivers of his body as he opens his mouth to let kyungsoo in, that makes kyungsoo feel heady, like he's in a dream instead of in the hallway of a club kissing a gorgeous guy so hard that it almost seems like he wants to consume that gorgeousness, own it, make it his forever. they barely come up for air but when they do, kyungsoo's lips never really leave kai, trailing kisses along his jaw and the curvature of his adam's apple and the gentle slope of his nose as kai tries to take in air.

he doesn't know how long they kiss, how kai's moans and whimpers bounce around in his skull to the point that kyungsoo doesn't think he'll ever forget them no matter how many times he listens tonight to his favorite singer's album, how kai slowly but surely comes apart and kyungsoo unravels with him, the friction and physical contact not quite enough. but soon kai's pulling away and stops kyungsoo from following, and they stare at each other for a dazed moment before kai manages to gather himself together, and kyungsoo doesn't quite let go of him but he rocks back a little.

he can't quite comprehend what he's just done. what he's just allowed himself to do. his mind's on red alert but there is iron in his fingers as he holds on to kai, still, and kai's no longer got his arms around him but they're settled on his shoulders.

"sorry, i'd like to go on, but..." kai glances off to the side, and kyungsoo recognizes the gesture but it doesn't quite fit kai, doesn't quite make sense, until he realizes it's shyness and kai's glancing up at him with the faintest blush on his cheeks. "but i do have work left to do tonight, and the manager might get mad at me for kissing someone during my working hours." he bites his lip.

"it's okay." kyungsoo's voice comes out rough, and he grimaces at it, but he doesn't miss how kai shudders and how a thrill shoots right through him at the reaction. "i'm, well, i was serious about going home anyway. i do have work to do." he doesn't, really, but he needs to get out of this club. he has to. 

kai looks disappointed, but he nods. "okay," he says with a sigh. "but come again next saturday, yeah?"

kyungsoo makes a noncommittal gesture and steps back. kai looks unsure, for a moment, but kyungsoo clears his throat. "you were amazing tonight."

at that, kai fucking _beams_ , and kyungsoo knows he has to get away before he's truly melted by the sun. "yeah, so, i need to get going," he says, turning around and beginning to walk away.

"don't forget next saturday!" is the last thing he hears before he dives right back into the crowd and the pulsing beats.


	2. Chapter 2

he doesn't go.

next saturday comes but kyungsoo doesn't go, and he's left to watch the sunset glaze his windows pink as it finds rest among the clouds, and all the while he's trying to not think of kai. it's something he's failed to do the whole of last week, but he tries anyway, because he needs to stop thinking. needs to stop remembering the sinuous movements and the wave of kai's body, the heat of his gaze and the mystery that cloaks him; needs to stop rewinding back to that hallway and that moment of their intertwined bodies and their breaths mingling, of the _rightness_ of his hands on kai and way he tasted and the groan easing out of his open mouth and the sense of drowning that never quite left him as he clutched onto kyungsoo, as though kyungsoo was a ship come to save him from the choppy seas. 

he needs to stop going through all of that, but he doesn't, he _can't_ , and kyungsoo doesn't understand why. he and kai have only interacted with each other for a total of three times. they're not even friends; he doesn't know what they are. but somehow there's that irresistible pull, and for as long as kyungsoo is close enough to touch kai, he can't seem to stay away from him. it's as if kai is the center of gravity that's keeping kyungsoo's world in orbit. and it's scary, it's confusing, because it's not usually like this and kyungsoo isn't sure how to deal with these feelings -- these desires, now clamoring for his attention when his guards are down. 

there hasn't been a night when he hasn't thought of taking kai. of exploring him, worshiping every inch of him and the spaces between, learning every single nook and cranny of kai's being the same way he's mapping the bumps of kai's spine. mornings, he wakes up to disappointment, the feeling heavy in his chest. he doesn't even know kai's real name, doesn't even know why he's ended up working in that particular club and a million more things, but he dreams of kai in his bed, kai in his couch with a mug of hot chocolate in his hands and his head leaning on kyungsoo's shoulder, kai sitting across from him in a cafe with a scarf around his neck and the steam from his coffee not quite obscuring the smile sitting gently on his lips and the crinkling of his eyes. 

kai, in many ways, is a thousand-piece puzzle that's too much of a pain to complete, but kyungsoo keeps it on his bedside table anyway, to one day put it all together and see the entirety.

 

 

monday brings with it a delayed subway train, and coffee spilled on leather shoes, and a briefcase that won't close all the way. kyungsoo's just about had it by the time he gets on the subway car, his watch ticking away to the office's opening hours. he grits his teeth in the crush of people, and imagines a thunderstorm driving them out. the thought takes the edge off of his brewing anger.

"kyungsoo?"

he knows that voice. he's dreamt of it and its nuances. kyungsoo doesn't want to turn around, but before he can even settle on ignoring that person, there's a hand gripping onto the handrail beside his, and he looks up at kai without the trappings of his trade. his hair isn't styled and his face is bare of make-up, but he's still attractive, and he still looks like sunshine. 

"you weren't there last saturday," kai says, and he pouts. "wanted you to see that one, too."

kyungsoo wants to laugh at how normal this conversation seems -- how, to anyone eavesdropping, it sounds as mundane as the weather. and then he remembers what happened in the club the saturday before last, and the smile slides right off. "i was busy," he says, and stops at that because he's just not good at lying on the spot. 

kai considers him for a second, and kyungsoo's afraid he might see right through the lie (doesn't know why he's afraid, even), but kai smiles. it's bright enough to overshadow the fluorescent lines overhead, sweet enough to pull in the attention of the other passengers on the subway car, and cheeky enough for kyungsoo to not even be surprised by his next words. "come next time, please."

kyungsoo looks away. it's not like he can tell kai that the reason he doesn't want to go is because of how he thinks he might be on the early track to a heart problem with the way it thunders when he thinks of kai, how kai is always in his dreams, how whenever kyungsoo looks at him he wants to pull him down and kiss him. there's nothing appropriate about any of these things, and so kyungsoo settles for, "what do you even get from me coming?"

"amazing kisses," kai fires right back, and kyungsoo, to his horror, feels his face heating up with another blush. "i'm not joking. if i'm honest, though..." he chews on his lip as he absent-mindedly taps a rhythm on the hand rail, "it's because, well. most of the time, you look as though nothing impresses you, your face is always blank, and -- i just want to change that look in your eyes. i want to make you desire me the same way you desired me when you kissed me." his eyes slide down to kyungsoo's lips, and kyungsoo feels the urge prickling at the back of his neck. he grips the hand rail even harder and avoids the wide-eyed gaze of the old woman sitting in front of them.

"that was the alcohol," he mutters, even though he knows he hadn't drunk much that night, that it had all been because of kai, and kyungsoo's bone-deep _want_ to discover him as though he is uncharted land. 

"was it," kai hums under his breath. "well, we'll see on saturday. see you!" the subway stops, and kai's hand covers kyungsoo for the moment it takes the doors to open; and then he's out with a smile thrown over his shoulder and a small wave. 

the ghost of his touch lingers even until the end of the day. 

 

 

his interactions with kai have somehow dry-erased the warning bell in his head for his three friends dropping out of nowhere and interrogating him, and so he has no one to blame when he arrives at his office on wednesday morning and finds them surrounding an unusually rattled soojung. 

"kyungsoo!" baekhyun yells, and he's got himself wrapped like a koala around kyungsoo, with chanyeol bringing up the rear, and jongdae embracing all three of them. together, the four of them resemble a weirdly shaped tree. "we've missed you! and you owe us stories, by the way, we're not letting you out of this one."

"i can't breathe, you idiots," kyungsoo bites out as he shakes himself free from their grasp and peels baekhyun off of himself. he adjusts his cuffs in an attempt at nonchalance, because he's not sure he has quite enough energy to handle the three of them today. in another life, he thinks they might have suited being police detectives and torturers.

"you won't have much need for it," jongdae says, and with no preamble, he pushes open the door to kyungsoo's office and walks right in, baekhyun and chanyeol following his lead. 

kyungsoo sighs. he knows his friends, and he knows that there's no getting out of this now. he looks at soojung, who's somehow gotten herself back together, though she still seems traumatized. "give us a couple of hours, okay? i'm sorry. go take a break, visit a cafe or your friends, it's fine." soojung murmurs her gratitude, but kyungsoo doesn't stay to hear anything more.

his friends have arranged themselves on the chairs in front of kyungsoo's desk, with jongdae taking up one, and chanyeol on the other, baekhyun sitting on his lap. kyungsoo takes his time putting down his briefcase and loosening the knot in his tie, reshuffling the papers on his desk, and settling in his chair.

"before any of you ask, no, i didn't have sex with the escort you hired. i was drunk and we went to sleep; nothing more than that happened."

the groans that spill out of the trio are discordant. kyungsoo sighs again. he wonders how much carbon dioxide he'll expel at the end of the day; he suspects it's probably enough for a forest.

"i told you he'd do that," baekhyun grumbles, a pout forming on his lips as per usual. "kyungsoo's no fun."

"no fun," jongdae repeats, rubbing his chin, and kyungsoo tenses. "so tell us, kyungsoo, about _last_ saturday."

of course jongdae doesn't beat around the bush. he never does, but kyungsoo doesn't want to go down without putting up a fight. he begins pulling folders and papers towards himself, flipping through them. he goes for dismissive, and his tone is viscous, syrupy almost, in the spaces between them: "what about last saturday?"

"how was your grocery shopping?" jongdae asks. baekhyun tilts his head in inquiry, and chanyeol blasts a grin full force.

"the eggs were on sale," kyungsoo says, because it's the first thing that comes to mind. in front of him is a document on slight changes in office filing protocols, and he needs to be paying more attention than he is at the moment, but he initials the pages anyway. 

"really," jongdae says, "and i suppose there was the special offer of a stripper's performance in a club as well?"

kyungsoo almost breaks the nib of his pen. he's not sure why it doesn't. "can we not talk about this?"

"so, no sex for you, but open to shows?" baekhyun leans back, chuckling. "anyone catch your eye?"

 _someone did more than catch my eye,_ is what kyungsoo thinks but doesn't say. it doesn't matter. his friends read the thought in the tightening of his grip on the pen, the furrowing of his eyebrows, and the reddening of the tips of his ears.

chanyeol taps his fingers on kyungsoo's desk. "was it any good?"

"fuck you," kyungsoo hisses. there's no point hiding it now. he pushes the papers aside, leans back in his chair, and closes his eyes. maybe the sky will choose this moment to crash down and bury his shame.

shame, but not regret. kyungsoo's in a merry-go-round of emotions set to fast forward, but there's no regret mixed in. feeling any kind of regret at all seems like a betrayal of kai somehow, and anyhow, kyungsoo's not sure what kind of person will regret one of the most intense, sweetest, _addicting_ kisses he's ever had in this lifetime. kai's even less of a reason to feel that way, the entirety of his being worth gold and every precious thing kyungsoo can name. 

"did you get to that point, though?" baekhyun sounds hopeful. kyungsoo crushes that hope with a shake of his head.

"so who's this someone?" jongdae asks, the corners of his lips curling up the way it does when he's amused by something. today, kyungsoo is his source of amusement. 

he doesn't want to tell them. he really doesn't want to tell them. he wants kai, and the knowledge of him, to stay in the photo album that's lying still and vibrant in the attic of his mind, and not out here in the open. but jongdae's going to fish it out of him sooner rather than later, and so kyungsoo says, "the escort that you got for me on my birthday."

several things happen at once: baekhyun slides right off of chanyeol's lap and onto the floor, chanyeol jumps up and his chair topples over, and jongdae whoops with his fist in the air. kyungsoo suppresses the intense _need_ to open the windows of his office and jump out. 

"so why didn't you just take the service that we paid for!" baekhyun yells.

"how was it?" chanyeol asks, wide-eyed.

"are you doing it again?" there's a glint in jongdae's eyes and a mischievous bent to his smile that kyungsoo can't quite trust.

"because i didn't know him then, no comment, and no, i am staying in my office for the rest of the year."

"you know, kyungsoo, if you just sit there without doing anything, someone else will swoop in on the boy. i mean, i would--he's gorgeous," jongdae says. and those words aren't supposed to get a rise out of kyungsoo but somehow they do, and it takes the slowly shrinking part of his brain to check himself and settle the taut lines of his shoulders and the fists his hands have become into something softer. 

"then let them swoop in. more customers, right?" the words taste like metal on his tongue; too bright, too cold, too insincere. because now he remembers that in jongin's line of work, there will always be more than one admirer; in jongin's line of work, there's no one person that can have him, that he can pay attention to. which is why kyungsoo needs to focus on work and not on beautiful boys who live with galaxies pushing against the fabric of their existence, drawing everyone closer until black holes swallow them all.

"does he have a regular schedule?" chanyeol asks out loud, as he helps baekhyun up and they both settle into their previous positions. "didn't get a clear look at him last time, i want to see him."

"yeah, i want to know whom kyungsoo has taken a shine to," baekhyun pipes up.

"i have work to do," kyungsoo says, hoping that the clack of teeth against teeth and the set of his jaw will be enough to dissuade them. but his friends are similar to cockroaches: persistent, always there when he doesn't want them to be, and seemingly impervious to every single tactic he tries to get rid of them. 

"not on saturday nights," jongdae says. "and you can't back out, kyungsoo. no matter what happens, we'll drag you out of your house and get you to that club on saturday night. you can run for all you want; but you know us and you know what we can do, so it's better if you come along quietly."

kyungsoo slams the folder he's perusing shut, reaches over to get the stapler, and throws it at jongdae.

 

 

kyungsoo has a plan: rent a hotel room on saturday, tell his friends he has to go on a last-minute business trip, and then stay in that hotel room until monday. his reservation's in and he's packed his bags, but when he opens the door to his apartment, he finds jongdae, chanyeol and baekhyun standing outside. 

"thought you''d run, you're so predictable," jongdae says, and before kyungsoo can even blink, chanyeol's wheeling his suitcase in, while jongdae and baekhyun drape their arms over his shoulders and march him back inside. 

there's a reason why his friends have pulled off as many birthday surprises as they have, kyungsoo realizes as he's pushed back down on his own couch, watching his friends unpack the contents of his suitcase and invade the kitchen for food. jongdae drops shopping bags that kyungsoo hasn't even realized he's been carrying on the floor beside his feet. on one hand, he loves them--he knows they mean well, that while they drive him to madness with their antics and their meddling, they also are the ones who'll come round and nurse him through his illnesses, and rent observatories when he wants to see the stars. on the other hand, they're also the most invasive people he's ever known, and he's still not sure how he, with his heavenward walls and bolts, the static of indifference crackling beneath his skin, has somehow opened the gates into his safe spaces and let them romp around and paint the interiors in lurid colors. perhaps he's the one who's a little more insane for allowing such a thing.

"let's get you dressed up!" baekhyun announces, and it's with dawning horror that kyungsoo realizes what his friend's holding in his hands: a make-up kit. in it is the sharpest eyeliner known to man, that baekhyun swears by on 2 am alcohol runs with the lights blurring into rainbows arcing overhead, leaving him purple-eyed and only half-alive. the black lines, he insists, gave him the appearance of attentiveness in his 8 am classes back in college. 

jongdae opens up the bags and begins to pull out various items of clothing. kyungsoo's glower turns down half a notch, because at least the clothes are in monochromatic, neutral shades, and not the leopard skin prints and pink denims his friend is much given to wearing on club nights. chanyeol comes out of the kitchen with a bag of crisps and a handful of shot glasses, his smile in full force as he announces, "pre-game!"

"oh, kyungsoo's getting game, alright," jongdae quips, and baekhyun dissolves into laughter. kyungsoo wants to back away. he really does. only there's a wall behind him that he can't get through, hemmed in as he is by the presence of his so-called best friends. he watches as jongdae and baekhyun inch closer. "i'm not going."

"of course you are," baekhyun croons. "let's see. yes, the leather pants, definitely, and the black button-down. top three buttons open, sleeves rolled up, and the silver buckle." he leans back to observe kyungsoo's features. "hair up, thank goodness you've let it grow out for once in your life."

"put these on," jongdae says, dumping clothes on kyungsoo's lap. "and you know you can't run away, so just do it."

"i wasn't aware that i'd signed up for being held hostage in my own home," kyungsoo feels the need to say, his hands clenching. 

"i'm sure kai won't mind obliging you, if that's what you're into," chanyeol says, setting down his kitchen acquisitions. baekhyun and jongdae burst into laughter. kyungsoo splutters.

"it wasn't like that!"

"it's fine if you like ropes and handcuffs in bed, 'soo," jongdae says, and kyungsoo wills down the flush on his skin. 

"i don't like them. get out of the way, i'll put the clothes on." and without pausing, he flees to the bathroom, shuts the door behind him, and sinks to the floor. 

it's not like he's been so set apart from his friends that he's no longer aware of what they're capable of. deep down, he's always known that they're the ones who push him when he's far too reserved or fearful to do things. the ones who batter against the walls he puts up in order for him to step out of the world he lets himself sink into. and they're not the problem, here, not really. chanyeol can storm the door of his apartment down, and baekhyun can line his eyes with kohl against his will, and jongdae can dress and needle and egg him on as much as he likes, but he's used to them. despite the naturally occurring disasters that they are, he's used to them. they're fixed points of chaos in his life that he relies on.

no, the trouble is kai, and his unpredictability. the trouble is that it's been two weeks since that night in the club and still the taste of the kiss lingers on his lips and tongue; still, his hands remember holding another body. more often than not, he takes his showers all cold and reads a book until bed time to ward off all the thoughts cluttering his mind. it's illogical how he's become attached to someone he barely knows. 

but that's a little like the drug that danger becomes: small doses, first, to pump adrenaline through brittle veins, until they escalate and he's left hanging from the precipice. if he's not careful, kai will be the knife that will tear him apart.

no matter what happens tonight, he has to stay on guard. kyungsoo knows this. he's not sure how long his resolve will hold, and he's even less certain of the chances when his friends are involved. they have a way of poking hornets' nests awake, those three, though he's not entirely blameless when he's indulged most of their atrocious ideas. just like now, as he pulls the shirt and the pants on, arranging them the way baekhyun has suggested. he can hear his friends laughing on the other side of the door, either over him or another one of those facebook memes that jongdae downloads to brandish at other people in real-life conversations.

kyungsoo stares at his reflection in the mirror, trying to decide if it's worth it to put more effort in styling his hair. he has half a mind to slick it up and away from his face, bringing to the fore his sharper angles that are somehow all the more flattering in the shadows. but if he does, the trio waiting for him will read it in the way he's trying to not acknowledge it as--an attempt at impressing. the object of the attempt is a given. he stares at the container of mousse lying on its side in his three-tiered bathroom organizer, and thinks, _fuck it_. it's simple: if he's really not out here trying to impress, or to be noticed, his friends can't do anything to bring him to that club. they're annoying, but they don't have that much power against his absolute refusal. and, kyungsoo thinks, the fact that he's here, willingly--if grumpily--putting on the clothes they've handpicked, is proof enough that he's not as opposed to the idea as he likes to project he is.

when he stalks out of the bathroom a while later, the laughter dies on his friends' lips. then chanyeol recovers himself enough to whistle, and baekhyun jumps up to offer his expertise in applying eyeliner. kyungsoo ignores them and glares, instead, at jongdae, who has sidled off to the side to take a "candid" photo of kyungsoo. 

"well," jongdae says, a curl to his smile that feels both innocent and mischievous at once, "let's get prince charming to his beau."

 

 

 _overdose_ looks the same as it always has, but the shiver of anticipation that zips down kyungsoo's spine is new. the bouncer at the entrance is still the same, and the crowd is of the same ilk as the last, youthful faces hiding behind the changing lights. jongdae spots an acquaintance at the bar and goes off to talk while fetching drinks for all four of them. baekhyun and chanyeol are, as always, wrapped around each other, and kyungsoo wonders for the nth time if they're still keeping things casual between them, forever too afraid of moving forward but unwilling to let the feelings pass them by. they pick a spot a little to the back of the crowd, one of the few remaining tables this close to the start of the show. jongdae comes back and pushes an unknown drink into kyungsoo's hand. it's citrusy going down, but with a lot more kick to it than he predicts. he can feel a flush beginning to form on his cheeks.

kai is not the one who opens this time. instead, it's a lithe young man whose stage name is xiumin, the curls of his hair framing his angelic face as he runs ice cubes down the length of his torso, only barely covered by the sheer panels of a tunic that is open to the waist. his pants billow in the soft whispers of dry ice and smoke crawling onto the stage. kyungsoo notes how jongdae leans forward with every undulation of xiumin's hips, his fingers drumming against his lips and his gaze flickering with ill-concealed appreciation. but jongdae is honest in the way that kyungsoo is not, who keeps his desires close to his chest; jongdae allows himself to display his thoughts to the rest of the world, and so kyungsoo isn't surprised.

next is lay, whose routine transitions from xiumin's as ice melts into water. blue dots radiate across his mesh-covered chest, and his movements are straightforward in their intentions. his hands are almost methodical as he peels away the mesh, inch by inch, and kyungsoo takes another sip of his drink. 

when kai comes out after a long parade of bodies that tantalize but do not quite titillate, kyungsoo is taken unawares. part of it is because kai begins his show from a curtain flap to the right of the stage, multicolored lights blending with fog to follow his rhythmic footsteps. he's wearing black from head to toe--black vest, black slacks, and silver body chains crisscrossing his torso. paste-on diamonds trail diagonally from the right side of his face to his left hip. he's not doing anything, not yet, but already kyungsoo is arrested, his glass clinking emptily as he puts it down. beside him, he can feel the shift of attention from baekhyun and chanyeol, their glances divided between him and kai. he wants to hide his interest, but it's like telling a hurricane to go off-course when its path has long been outlined.

like last time, kyungsoo gets caught up in the grace of kai's limbs, one move to the other, body roll to full stop. unlike the last time, the alcohol and his position in the back both grant him enough courage to be shameless about staring at kai as the fabric falls away from his writhing body, leaving only the body chains. there's something pleasing about the look of them, kyungsoo decides, against the gold of kyungsoo's skin. they feel like a metaphor for the stripper: outwardly caged, but inwardly not, and maybe that is why kai's routines revolve this way. always loose and then tight, a back-and-forth of desire, the man breaking from his cage. or is it the opposite, is it the man deciding the terms of his capture? kyungsoo does not know. he's abandoned his analysis for an appreciation of the dimples that form on kai's back, above the waistband of his slacks, and the glitter that gleams in the crook of kai's oiled elbow. he commits to memory the twist of kai's arms above his head, his twirl forward then away, and the slow, deliberate roll of his hips along with the below-the-lashes glance he directs at his audience. everything is quiet, in kyungsoo's head. and yet the music plays.

the end comes, and the lights dim, and kyungsoo can breathe again. but the peace doesn't last.

"i see," jongdae says, and beside him, baekhyun grins.

"you know we support you, don't you?" chanyeol adds. 

"what are you talking about--"

maybe it's the darkness, or the crowd dispersing as bouncers move away the staging, but kyungsoo doesn't notice the approaching figure until its weight settles on his lap. he's frozen one second, and annoyed the next, but the light sweeps across them and the contours of kai's face come into focus.

"you came!" he exclaims, and there is an undercurrent of happiness to his words that kyungsoo melts at the sound of. kai turns to his friends, and says, "you're the ones who hired me last time, aren't you?"

jongdae nods. "thank you for accepting," he says, "though kyungsoo was too much of a prude to take advantage of it."

"don't worry, i still appreciated the lie-in," kai replies. "besides," and he glances at kyungsoo, a bit coy, "kyungsoo's a good man."

"he is," baekhyun says, laughing. "well, kai, we'll see you around! chanyeol here wants a go at the bar." he pulls the taller man to his feet, sending a wink in kyungsoo's direction before heading towards the bar. 

surely his friends aren't planning to leave him alone. kyungsoo's liable to make unwise decisions when he's left on his own. but his suspicions are confirmed when jongdae asks kai about the first performer, and before kyungsoo can even blink, he's gone off in search of xiumin.

it's then that it sinks in: kyungsoo has a lapful of kai who is breathless, just a touch sweaty, his arms still bare and oiled. he's wearing tight, distressed jeans and another black vest, glitter in his hair, and his eyes are dark with eyeliner and red shadows. he gazes back at kyungsoo with amusement, as though he has noticed kyungsoo's own realization, but he doesn't jump off. instead, he curls closer.

"i've got the rest of the night off," he says, words soft against kyungsoo's lips though their mouths are not quite touching, not yet. 

"do you?" kyungsoo murmurs back. he's playing at nonchalance, and though the bass thumps overhead, it is as though they are closed off--as though they are standing in the eye of the storm, the surroundings quiet. his hand, unbidden, comes to rest on kai's thigh. the stripper glances at it, but he seems pleased at the touch. his own hands rest on kyungsoo's shoulders as he leans in.

kyungsoo can feel his heartbeat racing but he takes subtle deep breaths, in and out, as kai's eyes flicker down to his lips. "do i need to extend an invitation to you, or should i just take what i want, anyway?"

kyungsoo raises an eyebrow at that. "what _do_ you want?"

"a continuation of last time would be nice," kai breathes out. his hands interlock behind kyungsoo's nape. 

kyungsoo's other hand reaches up to frame kai's face, his own gaze searching kai's for his permission. kai grants it in the nuzzle of his cheek against kyungsoo's palm, and so kyungsoo crosses the distance and covers kai's lips with his own.

slow burn. the thrill of it tingles on kyungsoo's fingertips and aches wherever they touch, the sigh that kai lets escape drifting into nothingness at the pounding of the club's music. kyungsoo's hand on kai's thigh drifts upwards, to the stretch of exposed hipbone that he rubs for a while as kai's mouth opens up to him. then ever upwards, to his side, as he nips at kai's lips and sucks on his tongue, the flavor of his mouth untainted by alcohol. this one is a lazy kiss, and yet, when they part for a breath, kyungsoo is shivering to his core. he covers it well, and brushes a thumb along kai's cheekbone. 

and as kai lets loose a delighted laugh against his neck, kissing the skin there, kyungsoo pushes to the back of his mind his own alarm at caving in so easily. at how he appears to be the one caged despite the way kai melts against every successive kiss and caress, helpless against the tide of sheer want that courses through him. in the hollow of kai's throat, kyungsoo allows himself to worry, for just a second. then he carries on, already lost in kai's scent and the teasing tone of his voice.

they're intertwined. but for the life of him, kyungsoo cannot help thinking of kai as an illusion, a peek-a-boo game where he's allowed to glimpse fragments of a person, and not quite the whole. already, he's in too deep. tomorrow, he'll contemplate it in the hush of his bedroom and the roiling storm of his hangover. for now, he drinks in kai's presence, and guards it jealously even on the drive home, after kai's pressed a kiss into his cheek and a promise wrangled from him to come again next saturday.

jongdae drops baekhyun and chanyeol off, first, the two of them disappearing up the steps with their hands in each other's back pockets. when he stops in front of kyungsoo's building, he speaks. it's just a word; just his name. "kyungsoo."

"i know."

jongdae gazes back at him. "i hope you do."

it's a warning given too late, but kyungsoo is grateful for it, anyway.

 

 

the week passes by in a blur. the company is up in arms over a project for a big-name client, and kyungsoo finds himself swimming in legalese. soojung only just catches him up on the developments every morning, and at night, he sits in the kitchen with more takeout than he's ever had since his college days, poring over endless missives. in between, he dreams of bare skin and dark eyes, of a twister laying claim on no man's land. there are no thunderstorms but the cold lingers. he wakes to windows frosted over, and once or twice, he listens to the weatherman on the global channel detail far worse conditions in countries up north. 

it's midway through when he lets kai occupy his thoughts in that demanding manner he's had from the day they'd met, and it is, at least, due to an accidental encounter in a convenience store he ducks into on the way home from work. his fridge and his cabinets are all empty. kyungsoo picks through loaves of bread, canned goods, and toiletries he's been running low on.

when he turns the corner to the aisle filled with snacks, there he is, as though his subconscious refusal to think of kai has brought him here to where kyungsoo cannot ignore him. the other man is browsing through a selection of chips, but he looks up at the sound of kyungsoo's rattling cart. 

kai is surprised, and then delighted. "you know, we run into each other so often."

"i had to buy some things i needed," kyungsoo says, willing away the memory of kai in his lap, mouth hot and open against his own. 

kai makes a show of scanning kyungsoo's would-be purchases. "i never thought of you as the type to resort to canned goods, somehow," he muses, trailing a finger over a packaged loaf of bread. kyungsoo's mouth goes dry.

this is ridiculous.

"i'm not usually," he says, trying to not treasure the implication that kai has been thinking about him, about what he does and what he may be like outside of the club where they build a clandestine life. "but it's been pretty busy, lately, so i haven't had the time to cook."

"would you?" kai asks, tone abrupt, and he peers at kyungsoo through his lashes. "cook for me, i mean."

"what?"

kai shrugs, the motion oddly careless on his grace-filled form. "i'd like to get to know you. maybe sometime when you're not as busy, yeah?" he smiles, and kyungsoo has to restrain himself from reaching over to trace its shape. "give me your phone."

kyungsoo needs to be concerned about this. he has to stop being so blindsided. what if kai runs with his phone? he still barely knows him, after all, though he's learned the more intimate parts of him. but that in itself is not an exploration of the person, and kyungsoo has to be careful. 

he hands over his phone.

he watches as another smaller, yet somehow more revealing, smile ghosts over kai's lips, and then he's inputting his contact details. with another tap, he sends an emoticon to himself, which in itself is incongruent to how kyungsoo communicates with his sparsely worded texts. "this saturday, after the show, will you cook for me?" there is a hint of a plea there, but for the most part, it sounds as though kai isn't really going to take no for an answer. "will you be there?"

"yes," kyungsoo says, helpless once again, because he can already see how his weekend will play out. how in the middle of that last saturday night with kai, he's unraveled his barriers himself. how he's past pretending he doesn't want to be there. 

"it's a date, then." 

kai is gone before kyungsoo has even recognized what he's just said.

 

 

friday afternoon, kyungsoo calls jongdae. throughout the three rings it takes for his friend to pick up, kyungsoo is wondering, considering, wearing over his thoughts in the way a piece of clothing is that much aged by a cycle in the laundry. a variety of settings to choose from, and yet none of them can prevent the reality that objects are impermanent. 

"kyungsoo?"

"jongdae," kyungsoo breathes out. "tell me, am i making a mistake?"

this if the first, and maybe the last, instance in which quiet meets him on the other end of the line.

"talk to me."

kyungsoo stares out at the view his office offers. it's been a long day, his muscles and even his mind benumbed, and somewhere in him is a deep well of fear that he has never had reason to tap into in all the years he's navigated the strange world he's built around himself. he can go over the achievements he's had this week alone, but the truth is he hasn't quite moved on from wednesday, kai's smile the light bulb in the recesses of his worries. it's bittersweet--his _it's a date, then_ stuck on rewind. 

but kyungsoo hovers over that memory in retrospect, and recalls the depth in kai's eyes. the trembling of the smile. not fear, just--wrong. as though it is all in jest, and yet also real; as though it is a desire given voice to, but is not quite believed in, the evidence of it lacking.

 _it's a date, then,_ kai had said. somehow, it had felt insincere.

"kai--i met him," he begins. the sun is setting on the horizon, the cars are stuck in a maze of traffic lights and pedestrian lanes, and out there is a boy kyungsoo has somehow fallen for and yet cannot put a name to. "ran into him, actually, at the convenience store. somehow, he wound up giving me his contact details and asking me to cook for him tomorrow night. like a date."

he hears the clang of jongdae setting down an object--a bell maybe, or a metal binder. "do you want it to be a date?" his friend asks, and then the whirring starts up, and indication of jongdae spinning around in his office chair.

"i do," kyungsoo says, because he does. kai is golden. kai sears him to the core, carves spaces out of kyungsoo's walls, and makes homes there. and yet.

jongdae hums.

outside his office, kyungsoo can see the outline of soojung gathering her things, knocking once on his door to signify her leaving before walking away. "but it's the way he said it, like he was unsure about it, i can't explain."

"maybe he's nervous?" jongdae suggests. "that can happen, you know."

"i know. that's not the problem, not really."

"then what is?"

and here it is. here's what's been running through kyungsoo's mind, spin cycle really, in his dreams of skin against skin and fingers trailing. not the easy sensuality of it, but that tiny reminder that as much time as he's spent with kai, he doesn't know him. where is he going with this, really? paint-soaked nights and strobe lights in corners cannot smudge a relationship into existence, not even for people who are hurtling towards a collision of any kind. there is the not knowing, the uncertainty. and then there is the fact that kai is a stripper he's met at the club, who is at ease with touch as he is with revealing the rest of himself, even at a price. who is to say that kai doesn't see this as another potential transaction, a recurring customer in the honey trap of sins that clubs seem to engender?

it's not that kyungsoo thinks him unsavory, or any less desirable for his profession. but physical intimacy is easy to summon between chemistry-driven bodies, and to a person already in that bubble, emotions are complementary illusions. what kyungsoo feels and thinks, and what kai himself thinks and feels, are not one and the same.

and, like a thread catching on a nail or a splinter or the edges of furniture, unraveling that much more with every thoughtless action, is the fact that kyungsoo does not even know his real name. 

he tries to explain these. argues with himself via jongdae, and then counter-argues. he talks himself hoarse, as jongdae listens, then counsels, then argues back.

"kyungsoo," jongdae finally says, when it's past the close of day and the night has fallen into place without kyungsoo's acknowledgment, "this is a risk. but only you can know where this can lead, what you want it to be, and i think you know as well as i do that no one can make you do what you do not want to do."

his voice turns softer. "go. don't go. i can't give you advice; i've never been through this myself. but what i can tell you is that not knowing will not answer your questions, and it will not stay your doubts."

 

 

kyungsoo turns up late at _overdose_ , the strip show well on its way. he has no way of telling if kai has had his turn on the stage. he hasn't contacted him at all; kyungsoo's been waiting, all through asking him what he wants for dinner, until he settles for assembling a menu with the reasoning that even it this all falls through, kyungsoo can still eat what he makes. no word from kai, either, about when he's going to perform. so he nurses a drink at the bar, certain that he won't miss even just a sliver of kai's figure anyway, and that is more than enough. he sits through a parade of performers, takes in the cheering, absorbs the crowd drifting to the pulse of the music.

he tries to not worry, but it's there, anyway. kyungsoo takes another shot to stop himself from texting kai, again, to ask him where he is. he doesn't have that right. 

a young man sidles up to him, tense for all that he attempts to look casual about it, and kyungsoo's guard is up. he contemplates the jut of the man's jaw, about to brush him off, but then the man talks first. "are you kyungsoo? jongin said you'd be here."

kyungsoo's eyebrows crease together. "jongin? look, i think you should proposition someone else--"

"shit, sorry, i meant kai," the man says, and kyungsoo notes the panic flare in his eyes. "anyway, if you're kyungsoo, he said to meet him where you first met."

this may be a trap, but then it may not be. kyungsoo regards him, letting his gaze intimidate him into admitting anything untoward that he's planning. but he only finds sincerity in the returning gaze, and so he nods to the bartender, pays his tab, and leaves his seat at the bar to make his way to the back alley of the club. 

kai--or is it jongin, is that his real name?--is crouched down, beside the overflowing dumpsters, his hair unstyled and soft-edged in the harsh glow of the few working street lamps. the slice of light from the club casts another layer to him, rendering him almost illusory. when kyungsoo steps close to him, he doesn't turn to look at him.

"hey. sorry i haven't been answering your messages. i gave a pretty shitty description of you to taemin, but he's somehow managed to find you, so i guess it's fine."

kyungsoo doesn't reply. instead, he looks at kai and the curve of his back. this kai is different, sharp to the non-existent touch. still, he seems vulnerable, and there is an unspoken strain in the way he is holding himself.

"i can't push through with the plan for tonight," kai continues, "but i'd like to ask you for a favor."

kyungsoo waits. distantly, he registers the taste of smoke in the back of his throat, and his mind catalogues the sensation as a residue of the people spilling out into the alley with cigarettes in their hands. a group of friends about a foot away from them are laughing.

"can you be with me tonight?" kai shifts, then, rising to his feet. he slips a card into kyungsoo's hand and kyungsoo takes it, uncomprehending. "my rates are on there."

"rates?" kyungsoo glances down at the card, at the logo and the per-hour numbers, and his gaze shoots back up to search kai's face. "kai--"

"this is the only way you can have me, kyungsoo," kai says, and it's wrong, wrong, _wrong_. his smile is flint sparking tinder, flame catching in this smoked-out alleyway, and kai is wreathed in orange but his gaze is harsh. "this is who i am."

"we don't have to--"

"please."

kyungsoo comes up short. he stares at kai. kai stares back. 

"kyungsoo, please," kai says, and kyungsoo is certain there is desperation in those words, in the grit of kai's teeth. "i know this may be too much for you, but--one night. pay for me for one night. please."

and kyungsoo grips the card tighter, instead of holding kai the way he wants to; he crushes it to his palm.

he nods.

 

 

it is the same room as before. 

kyungsoo tries to distance himself from the moment, from his own surroundings, as kai strips down. he tamps down the wave of nausea and concern as kai undresses in front of him, sensual because kai is never not so, and he sees the imprints on his hipbones, the marks on his thighs. he doesn't hide it well, and kai misreads it, perhaps, because his shoulders hunch in and he reaches out to turn off all the lights. when he settles back on the bed, the moonlight treats him kindly, settling over his form in that sheen artists use to preserve their masterpieces.

but kyungsoo doesn't ask.

"i know i've been asking for favors all night," kai whispers, "but i have a couple more."

kyungsoo settles a knee on the bed. he reaches out to kai, and kai catches his hand, interlocking their fingers. "call me jongin, tonight. it's my real name," he says, "and let me be the one to undress you."

"jongin," kyungsoo says. he doesn't say anything else, choosing to look at kai in lieu of what he cannot bring himself to say. questions, mostly-- _who hurt you? what's wrong? why is it that you look like you are about to cry?_ it isn't his place, and yet it is, and so he keeps looking as kai--no, jongin--unbuttons his shirt. helps jongin unlatch his belt, then peel off his pants. there is no seduction here, as his shoes and socks come off, then his underwear.

jongin lets his legs fall apart.

the words are lost, in this room. they fall into the folds of the linens, and do not come back up, and the moonlight continues to cling to jongin. there are sights and sounds. there is kyungsoo, asking, "what do you want?" and jongin replying, "everything." there is the chill of lubricant, and the twist of fingers in soft heat, the arch of a back, the gasp as jongin falls apart in the chanting of kyungsoo's name. his nails drag lines down kyungsoo's back, tethering him to this bed, to this gorgeous man; a sign of a claim that kyungsoo recognizes and then sets aside for later perusal. he follows the play of moonlight down jongin's body, and kisses his feelings down the line of his throat, the stretch of his collarbones, the pebbling of his nipples. sucks new marks over old as vindication, as exorcism. 

he mouths what he cannot say into jongin's skin, and then later, his name, when desire is pooling in his stomach and he cannot hold a thought for far longer than it takes to navigate where his next claim will lie. everywhere, he kisses and worships, from the suckling of jongin's toes, to the throbbing weight of his cock, until the velvet of his lips and tongue. kyungsoo lays his lips on the salt of jongin's tears, but he continues to not ask, to not speak. when he cannot wait any longer, when jongin winds his thighs around his waist and the moonlight is but a swathe over jongin's torso, kyungsoo enters in long, slow strokes. he cannot be rough; he does not wish to be rough. he listens to the melody of jongin's moans and whimpers, drinks them in the nectar of his mouth when it feels too much, and there is the heat all around him and within him. 

they tighten, they push and they pull, they let go. and, when the shadows lie asleep, they begin again.

that night, the thunderstorm comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this will take a lot longer than i thought, because i am struggling too much with writing certain kinds of scenes and i'm feeling my way through it still. also, this will apparently have more parts because i very clearly like torturing myself.
> 
> dedicated to you, angel. may you rest in peace.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> w: mentions of non-con, violence, bruises--nothing graphic, but just in case.

the morning after plays out like one of the art films kyungsoo loves to watch on lazy weekends, blanket over his lap and pillows curving around his back. it's a room shaped out of silence that moves in viscous flow. stutter: that is the heart in his chest when he feels jongin lean forward, for a second, and then away. light touches in the chilly dawn. he watches with eyes at half-mast, as jongin sits up and looks down at him, not seeming to notice the sliver of consciousness that props him awake, and trails hesitant fingers through his hair. kyungsoo allows it; it's a soft, damning thing, barely enough to restart a heart. but.

but this is jongin, upright, when last night it had felt as though he'd been begging on his knees. when kyungsoo's recollection meanders to that moment in the alley, the memory of jongin handing him the card breaks his heart. it isn't as though he'd been given room to refuse. still, it feels like an irreparable crack, like a flaw waiting in the wings to corrupt the foundations.

jongin lifts his hand and slips out of bed. he pulls on his clothes, finds a pad and a pen inside the drawer of the bedside table, and writes a note. folds it. leaves it in place of where his body had lain, mere hours ago. 

kyungsoo closes his eyes when the door closes behind jongin. perhaps the most cruel reality of all isn't in the leaving, or in the blurry bliss of morning now broken, or even in the haze of the night before and the date spinning downwards into an object unrecognizable in the sunlight. no--

it's that he possesses the knowledge of how jongin looks in the dark. he can still _taste_ , feel, hold him everywhere. he might as well be wearing jongin's skin. he knows now the sounds jongin makes in pleasure half-veiled by a deep-rooted pain; the tiniest actions of his body when he can no longer take it, the clench of his fingers, the trembling of his thighs. kyungsoo has a record of it in his head, and he cannot wipe it away, along with the bruises and marks on jongin's body. 

is it possible, he muses, to claim what has already been claimed? or, if so many have laid claim, is it maybe truly unclaimed?

it's light out. kyungsoo takes a deep breath, and then he pushes himself upright to prepare for the day.

 

 

he doesn't call jongdae, baekhyun, or chanyeol--or any combination of the three--about that saturday night. he lets it simmer in the background as he goes about his sunday rituals: cleaning, washing, cooking. when the new week arrives on his doorstep, he steps out into it, and carries on. 

he doesn't have any alternative outside of carrying on. 

soojung remains as efficient as usual--a fixed point in his life when all else has been spiraling away from his once tightly-fisted control. kyungsoo contemplates giving her a raise because she deserves one after putting up with him on the days when he isn't even sure what's happening anymore. it's been busy week after busy week, but he throws himself into any work that's been waiting for him to acknowledge, because he doesn't want to think about anything other than the technicalities required of him. once or twice he naps in the board room, in between meetings. soojung is discreet about letting him rest without appearing tired to the rest of the office. 

thursday afternoon, he signs a missive recommending a pay raise for soojung on the basis of excellent performance. friday night, jongdae calls them four together for a movie marathon that runs way into the brightening of the skies outside, which they greet in a 24/7 mcdonald's just a block away from jongdae's apartment. kyungsoo can feel the questions directed towards him in the form of aborted glances from jongdae, but he shakes his head at each one. he doesn't know where to even start. baekhyun and chanyeol take the underlying tension in stride, instead launching into comical story-telling of the things they get up to on their own or together. kyungsoo is glad for it, that lightness; it keeps him from the heavier side of his emotions.

he asks to be dropped off first, to avoid jongdae's simmering curiosity, at which the other man sighs. but he lets it go, save for a brief one-armed hug he subjects kyungsoo to when they arrive in front of his apartment building, and a whispered, "we're here for you, you know?"

kyungsoo knows.

saturday afternoon blossoming into evening, kyungsoo sleeps in. that way he can focus on the exhaustion instead of on a certain club, of mistakes he's made without careful consideration, of a dancer in the shadows begging to be taken. kyungsoo wonders if he's now considered a shadow himself, for taking jongin up on that offer.

 _jongin_. kyungsoo tests out the name. it weighs nothing on his tongue but tugs at his heart. 

maybe it's not knowing jongin that bothers him. he doesn't know much about his background, about why he really is in the club if all he wants to do is dance, if he is living with family or alone like kyungsoo. he hasn't asked jongin about saturday night, about the desperate _this is the only way you can have me_. it's as though they haven't been building something else in the interim, an odd connection that can last outside of _overdose_ and red-shaded rooms of pleasure. 

the hardest thing about saturday night was to hand over the money, knowing that if jongin truly wanted it, they could have done it beyond those rooms. they could have come together in another setting, the bridge to a different sort of relationship. 

he doesn't understand it at all. so many secrets lie beneath the surface of jongin's child-like smile, and yet he can see the desire to have them all uncovered. in someone who has given himself to many, over and over again, it's a wonder to behold still: that thorough blanketing of a person. then again, the people who visit those red-shaded rooms don't do so to obtain depth; they do it for the shallow feeling, treading still waters that will remain safe no matter who or what passes through.

and what of jongin's career? does it bother kyungsoo? perhaps not the stripping in itself, but the markings, the bruises on jongin's skin, that darkness is barely able to help hide. the thought of intended violence makes kyungsoo seethe, set to boil over. he wants to chase them all down, those who raised hands, and then tear their limbs apart. jongin, in the handful of encounters kyungsoo has known him, has roused a strange, blistering protectiveness within kyungsoo that he's finding difficult to keep a leash on.

at that thought, kyungsoo allows himself to drift.

 

 

kyungsoo has been standing on the sidewalk fronting _overdose_ for over 30 minutes. the sun is still up and the cordoned path to the club is clear, but there's a bouncer hovering at the entrance. he's been keeping a wary eye on kyungsoo since about five minutes ago. 

earlier, he'd clocked out before official closing hours at the office, dismissing soojung because there hadn't been much left to do. it's a half-truth; the slew of documents and meetings have been clearing up, but mostly kyungsoo had left because he'd felt too restless to wait out the end of the working day. before he'd given much thought to it, his feet had led him here, but once his brain had caught up to the rest of his body, he couldn't bring himself to go inside.

he's not even sure if the club accepts patrons before the settling of the night, though the bouncer indicates that there's staff employed at this hour. he doesn't even know why he's here. maybe it's because he has an urge to see jongin, to talk to him, to run through the radio silence between them until he finds a working channel where they can banter and tease and flirt once again. but he's not sure what he can do about it, what jongin will allow. this is jongin's turf, not kyungsoo's.

still, there's really only one way to find out, and kyungsoo hates being a coward.

he takes decisive steps forward, running his identification card past the suspicious gaze of the bouncer, and ducks into relative quiet. the interior of _overdose_ is cool, dim lighting turned on for the parts of the club where a handful of customers have situated themselves. there's a couple in a corner booth, their legs tangled together; a middle-aged man at the bar, deep in drink; and a group of friends talking in hushed whispers over cocktails. kyungsoo makes his way to the bar and comes face to face with taemin, the young man who'd sent him to jongin the last time.

taemin doesn't notice him at first, focused as he is on topping up the middle-aged man's supply of liquor and cleaning new glasses. when kyungsoo taps on the counter to catch his attention, he whirls around with a bright smile, though it seems to catch when he realizes who it is.

"what can i get you?" he asks, tone courteous but detached. he sets down the glass he's been cleaning.

"where's jongin?" kyungsoo asks, without preamble.

taemin's eyes narrow. in the half-light, his features are delicate yet sleek, somehow, the uniform crisp on his lithe figure. jongin looks more solid than he does. "he hasn't clocked in. would you like to leave a message?"

kyungsoo shakes his head. the words he wants aren't quite there on his tongue, yet; only jongin's presence can cause their existence. but he doesn't want to leave so soon, either, not when he's spent so long a time trying to work up the nerve to go inside the club. "recommend me a drink," he says, clambering onto a stool at the bar.

the line of taemin's lips takes on a dangerous edge, and kyungsoo almost prepares himself for some sort of rebuke. before he can, however, the bartender turns around and starts whipping out a concoction from the top-shelf whiskey bottles. he wonders if perhaps he's set himself up for alcohol poisoning. kyungsoo lets his gaze roam across the near-empty club and its fixtures. at this time of day, the staging is stripped bare, but the tables scattered all around it remain. he re-lives the last time he'd sat there with jongin in his lap, and then hates himself for it.

there is heat creeping along the back of his neck. kyungsoo loosens the knot of his tie and shrugs off his blazer, slinging it over the counter space to his right. taemin returns with the cocktail he's made and watches as kyungsoo takes a sip, a bit wary of what it might contain. it's good-quality liquor, igniting a fire in his throat, but there's an accompanying tinge of bitter-sour that stings the back of his palate. he holds taemin's gaze as he drinks half of it down.

"how is he?"

"how is who?" taemin returns, pulling towards himself another set of glasses to clean. the middle-aged man on the other end of the bar counter has slumped over by now. taemin shoots him a worried glance. 

"jongin." kyungsoo doesn't miss the brief tightening of taemin's hands around the glass he is holding. 

"look," taemin says, not bothering to glance over at kyungsoo, "i don't really know what you are to jongin, and how you've come to know him, but if he wants you to know anything, he'll tell you."

"i just want to know how he is," kyungsoo says, though he appreciates the protectiveness that taemin is projecting. they must be good friends, then, if taemin is doing his hardest to block kyungsoo's lines of inquiry. though it doesn't make him less irked, considering that he's not really out looking to trouble jongin. 

"and why is that?" taemin asks. he moves on to the next glass. "looking for a good time, are you? well, you can go to the rooms with anyone else, if you need to, don't go bothering--"

"he had bruises," kyungsoo interrupts, and it comes out louder than he intends. the group of friends a couple of tables away turn their curious gazes on him, and he shifts in his seat as though the movement can displace the weight of their attention. "i don't know how much he's told you about me, but we were supposed to have a," he stops, scrambles, because until now he still doesn't know how serious jongin had been about calling it a _date_ , "a dinner together. instead, on saturday night, he was desperately asking me to _spend a night_ with him, bruises on his skin, and he left the next morning before i could even ask him a thing. so forgive me if i want to ask how he's been, if he's alright, because something must have caused him to act so weird the last time i was here!"

he downs the rest of his drink, agitated all of a sudden. he's spent an entire week trying to remove it from his mind, that image, but it's all he can come back to. here in this club, it taunts him. he wishes he knows what the rules are, with jongin; if he's allowed to call him, to meet up with him, to do things other than touch and kiss him. because as much as desire gives him a heady rush and jongin appears willing enough to stoke its flames, and reciprocates in kind, kyungsoo can't help but feel that it's desecrated, now. as though it's no longer quite what it's meant to be. and he can't explain it, which is why he's been so restless. 

taemin meets him with silence. kyungsoo glares at his glass as taemin finishes his work, then walks over to the middle-aged man with trailing whispers to rouse him from his stupor. the man settles his bill and stumbles out of the club. kyungsoo keeps his gaze fixed on the counter, and so he doesn't expect the scrape of the stool beside him, and the slight creak of the seat when taemin perches on it. 

"i'm sorry," taemin offers, and in a moment where kyungsoo feels he's all glass, it comes out soft. hushed impact. "so many things have happened to jongin, and i--i've been his friend since the day he first came to this club. you'll have to forgive me if i'm protective of him, and suspicious of anyone who comes hanging around with hidden intentions."

kyungsoo tilts his head in acceptance. "it's alright. it's good to know there's someone looking out for him."

taemin nods. he laces his fingers together, as though he's playing an imaginary game of cat's cradle ( _in out in_ ), and it's with a jolt that kyungsoo realizes his hair's a pale white that takes on the colors of the changing lights, not orange as he'd previously thought. a muscle on his cheek twitches. "to answer your question--he's fine, as far as i can tell. he was neither more nor less forthcoming with me, than he was with you."

"how long?"

taemin blinks. "what?"

"how long has he been doing... this?" kyungsoo clarifies.

"about three years, i think," taemin says, angling his body towards kyungsoo. "he was a bartender for half a year, before the manager offered him the chance to do the strip-dancing for higher pay."

"do you know why he does it?"

taemin considers him. "yes," he says, "but if you're looking for me to tell you, you'll be disappointed. i think it's better if you ask him."

kyungsoo nods at that. it's understandable; stories need to be told by those who own them. he swallows, debating whether he should ask the question or not. "does it happen often?"

"does what happen often?"

"the other services." kyungsoo closes his eyes. "the bruises."

"i'm not there for every instance. but..."

he opens them to find taemin's features marred by a frown, his hands fiddling with his sleeves. "but?"

"it's a hazard of the job," taemin says, halting. "jongin is allowed to turn down offers, but he does need to meet a quota so sometimes... he has to. and not everyone who comes here has nice, vanilla thoughts. they make their beds with their problems." he pauses and licks his lips. "i'd say jongin doesn't receive more or less than the others, but... he can't escape it all, you understand?"

kyungsoo doesn't. he doesn't understand why people cause others pain, how they can look at jongin's face and think him worthy of being broken. but he doesn't voice his thoughts. instead, he asks for another drink and stays his questions, for the moment. taemin acquiesces, looking relieved to be postponing their conversation. 

it's a long while before kyungsoo leaves the club, but in that time, jongin doesn't show up. he makes his peace with that; the cocktails help.

 

 

thursday is wearing off the same as all other days when kyungsoo's phone buzzes in the middle of a meeting. he flinches, partly because he's anticipating his caller to be jongdae, and partly because the vibrations against his leg feel like the beginnings of a muscle cramp. he swipes across the screen in dismissal, not even looking down at it. beside him, soojung shifts in her seat, her long hair falling forward as she takes down the minutes. kyungsoo redirects his attention to the presentation of the representative from the sales department, and ignores the faint _ting!_ that accompanies an incoming text. no one but soojung hears it.

it's only once he's in the elevator on the way down that he thinks to check his phone. jongdae knows his office hours; so far, he--and baekhyun and chanyeol--have done well when it comes to restraining from contacting kyungsoo then, save a couple of hiccups. for a moment, he worries that there's been an emergency, and it's enough for him to fumble with his unlock code.

the missed call and text are not from jongdae. they're from jongin.

a part of kyungsoo wants to ignore the text, to delete it and pretend he's never received it. but the tenuous nature of his and jongin's relationship is such that he knows that jongin's not done anything to warrant that treatment. and if he's honest, he doesn't want to act immature, anyway. 

_**[sent 4:33 PM]** _ **hi. i know i've been awol, things have been a bit messy lately. sorry about last time. i can't collect on the date, but would u like to meet tmr at the bakery? u know the one, w/ the bday cake.**

kyungsoo stares at it for so long, he almost misses his stop. it's only the brush of a person's shoulder against his own that restarts him, and he steps out into the lobby crowded with office workers beginning to make their ways home. he hurries to an empty spot in the corner and reads over the text again. there are about a thousand questions in his head, multiplying by the minute, but somehow he feels that this is all jongin will give him for now.

it isn't as though he himself has given up his secrets, anyway. just because he feels as though jongin's very presence can flay him open, leave his heart exposed, doesn't mean that he's actually been that forthcoming with his own life. kyungsoo shuts his eyes and breathes in.

the rest of thursday and the whole of friday pass by in a blur. it's half the workload, heavy and frantic enough to pull wool over kyungsoo's eyes and leave him feeling muzzy for the weekend, and the other half of it's sheer anticipation, a wild beast curling in the pit of his stomach with barely any scraps to eat. kyungsoo hasn't eaten much, just several cups of coffee now teetering in a pile on soojung's desk, and biscuits swiped from the pantry during the odd half-hours with nothing happening. he leaves a whole hour earlier than usual--he's replied to jongin that he'll get there by six, but kyungsoo is aware that he's strung too tight to stay one more minute in a corporate beehive.

golden light is spilling from the windows and open doors of the bakery, the line shorter than usual, and kyungsoo queues for a sugar-dusted donut since his adrenaline rush isn't abating anytime soon, anyway. he spends the time waiting contemplating the display for the pastry that suits jongin best. he pushes away the instinct to check the surroundings for the taller man every few seconds or so.

"what are you getting?" a voice speaks right beside him, and kyungsoo is almost declared dead of shock at that moment. turning, he comes face to face with a tamer jongin, his hair lying flat and shiny, and his face looking younger despite the faint traces of his stubble. still, there's that quiet edge to him, like a small blade that is deadly in its subtlety. 

"a donut." the line moves, and kyungsoo moves as well. jongin keeps apace of him. "how have you been?"

kyungsoo watches jongin shrug his shoulders, the casual movement a ripple to safer shores. "oh, alright, here and there," he says.

there are things that hum in the syllables between, the short intakes of breath. there are the twists and turns of words and how they wrap around themselves, at times, and kyungsoo can hear it all whenever jongin speaks. but he doesn't press. it's his turn up front, so he shifts his attention to the cashier instead, and stays in silence as the worker behind the counter fishes the donut out with tongs.

"for here, sir?" the cashier asks. kyungsoo catches jongin's nod from his peripheral view, and nods as well. the donut is deposited onto a plate, and jongin steps up to rattle off an order of some sort of cake. 

"i'll find a seat," is what kyungsoo says, and he doesn't wait for jongin's acknowledgment to back away from the queue and head for the tables. no one really stays in the bakery--most of the time, they're coming and going, pastries wrapped or boxed or quickly digested together with a styrofoam cup of coffee. kyungsoo doesn't recall spending much time here, himself. but the seats are cozy--the armchairs with the flowery prints and curved back rests, and the colorful wooden stools. he picks one in the corner, and sits down just as jongin reaches him.

"what have you been doing?" jongin starts off, which is just as well. kyungsoo's spent the minutes-long walk here agonizing over the conversations they can have without offending each other. here, in front of him, is a young man he's learned in the dark, all silk and low sighs, and that thought alone casts this scene in a different light. but he mustn't give himself away, and this isn't the time to wander down those roads.

"working," kyungsoo says, taking the donut and biting into it. it's surprisingly not that sweet; the sugar tastes more powdery than diabetes-inducing, and he hums to himself in appreciation. "couple of big projects lately, but i have a stellar secretary, so most of the time i don't find it all that difficult to keep up."

"you must be all that then," jongin quirks a smile at him, "if you have a secretary."

"well, not that much, but i did spend a while in the lower rungs before i climbed up." he watches as jongin digs a chunk out of his cake, frosting smearing on his lips when he brings it to his mouth. "what about you?"

"taemin said you came by the club," jongin says. he's not looking at kyungsoo as he says this. there's a dash of frosting on his upper lip; kyungsoo wants to brush it off. instead he takes another bite of his donut. "he said you'd talked."

"a bit."

"about me?"

their gazes meet. "what answer would you like to hear?"

"no one really likes to be talked about when they're not there to hear," jongin says. he's halfway through his slice of cake, but he's still holding kyungsoo's gaze. as if to say, _this is where you are, this is where you stand._ it's a honey trap of a look--enticing and dangerous, at once.

"then, for your sake, let's say we didn't," kyungsoo says. 

"that just makes me all the more certain that you did."

"i'm sure taemin would have told you what our topic was." 

the noise level in the bakery drops for a moment. it's getting late, and the shop's hit a lull. the workers are fiddling around with the pastries on display. somehow, kyungsoo finds it jarring, this jongin who is superimposed on the shop's candy-like interior. 

"surprisingly, no," jongin says, and he frowns. "he never tells me those things, unless maybe there's a cause for concern."

"then don't be concerned," kyungsoo says. "anyway, i just wanted to see what you'd been up to."

jongin shakes his head. by now, they've both finished their orders. the younger man has readjusted his stance several times now. it makes kyungsoo's fingers twitch in sympathy.

"not much, then, if you wanted to know," he says. "i've been staying at home, mostly, reading books, watching shows, catching up to my friends' lives, you know?"

"jongin," kyungsoo starts, and then catches himself. he'd been about to ask the stripper what had happened _that night_ , when jongin had begged, and kyungsoo had given in. he digs around in his thoughts for a replacement. "is stripping something you want to do for a long time?"

surprise settles on jongin's face, raising his eyebrows and widening his eyes. he looks as though he's considering pretending to not have heard kyungsoo's question. "no," he says, but he doesn't add anything else.

but there's something else that's been bothering kyungsoo, and he's reminded of it when jongin fiddles with his shirt sleeve, and kyungsoo glimpses a fading mark. "don't take this the wrong way," he says, and waits until jongin tips his head in acknowledgment, "but i couldn't help but notice the bruises. do they... do you have a lot?"

his heart sinks. the walls have dropped down in jongin's eyes, cutting off any lightheartedness sparking there. kyungsoo fiddles with the hem of his shirt, restless all of a sudden, and he avoids looking directly at jongin.

"not much," jongin says. his smile looks the same as those painted on dolls' faces. "not much, but sometimes it feels like they will never end."

kyungsoo no longer has questions after that.

 

 

jongin texts him to come again to _overdose_ on saturday, and kyungsoo doesn't tell him that he's gathered the resolve to do just that while he'd been talking to taemin. there's a part of him that's apprehensive about how this will turn out, if he'll have the carefree jongin sitting across his lap to trade soft kisses with, or if jongin will come to him instead from the shadows, and drag him back into the dark. the former is easier to deal with, lighter, brighter; the latter holds secrets that kyungsoo may never be able to pry into. but these are jongin's to tell, and if he still hasn't earned that place in the younger man's life, then kyungsoo won't push.

what are _they_ , after all?

what do you call a relationship built out of a night, unconsumed, and then left to fade? what is it, if it involves halfway meetings in spontaneity, if it is carried out in hushed spaces, if there really--and it makes kyungsoo's heart stutter a little--if there really is nothing but _something_ , undefined, at the heart of it all?

he supposes that he's a fool for pushing on, regardless. but there's a stubbornness to him that few have ever overcome. besides, if he sits in his room, and whiles the rest of his time away there, then what _this_ is will really become nothing. just a cutscene in the movie; transition to the unwinding of a life.

 _overdose_ is as rowdy as ever, and kyungsoo finds a spot towards the back, just in case jongin isn't going to be one of the acts tonight. even if he is, the distance will be a comfort to have. it's always awkward when he's up front, watching all the others that come before and after jongin, when he has no interest in any of them.

the lights dim. kyungsoo's breath is taken away. 

the man on the stage is blindfolded, but kyungsoo has run his hands over that body in moonlight, has traced the contours of that face, has paid homage to those lips. they stand out, shockingly red against the golden sheen of jongin's skin, his torso left uncovered though he wears loose trousers made of sheer material. long, trailing strips of white fabric twist around his arms, binding him mere meters away to a chain-link fence at the back. a beat sounds; jongin's arms flex. kyungsoo is seated so very far away, but he recognizes the fall of jongin's chest and the parting of his lips for the breath, held in, then exhaled. 

and so jongin dances. 

his feet are bare, graceful, as his body follows along to create sleek lines despite his restraints. sweat pools in his collarbones. jongin is held prisoner, raging in his cage, but it is of a delicate kind--when the music falters, so does he, the bending of his knees bringing him down along with his bindings. he turns his arms, light cutting through the fog, and they drop. they look so soft, then, as though they have never held back a free soul. kyungsoo can feel the heat burning in the pit of his stomach when jongin's movements turn sensual, his tongue swiping wickedly over his bottom lip. the movement wrenches a feeling into being in kyungsoo's chest; it's all he can do to keep himself still, to keep watching. idly, he wonders at the irony of it, of jongin playing the imprisoned when it is all the people watching him who are subject to his whims. 

the waistband of jongin's trousers fall just below his hipbones, and the music grinds to a halt. the room gathers in the shadows once more. 

and kyungsoo is rigid in his seat, counting sheep in his head, and willing away his burgeoning arousal. his skin is prickling with it. 

arms encircle him. kyungsoo does not have time to make a sound, before he is tugged out of his place and whirled into an alcove as another stripper comes on, and he turns around to come face to face with jongin.

" _how_ do you do _that_?" kyungsoo demands, trying to ignore the crackle in the air between them, jongin's scent hitting him hard when they're standing this close. jongin's hands have slipped down from kyungsoo's shoulders, resting lightly on his forearms.

"what do you mean?" and jongin cocks his head, his tone just this shade of cheeky that kyungsoo absolutely should not condone. 

"how come i never see you coming? one minute you're on stage, the next, you're right here." 

jongin shrugs. now that kyungsoo's got a proper look at him, he can see that jongin's thrown on a black tanktop, glitter in his hair, and he's still wearing the same trousers as earlier. that piece of clothing causes kyungsoo to flush, and he hopes that the strobe lights are covering that up. "let's go up," he says, twining his fingers around kyungsoo's, and beginning to pull him out of the alcove.

"up?" kyungsoo asks, stumbling to keep up with jongin's pace.

jongin glances back at him. there's a teasing edge to the quirk of his lips that isn't reflected by the emotion in his eyes. "don't tell me you don't remember the last time," he says with a laugh.

the implication is almost enough to stop kyungsoo in his tracks. his eyes trace jongin's form, soldiering through the crowd and dragging kyungsoo along with him, as all around them the music thrums. there's an anticipation in the air that must have been born from the strip show. jongin gives taemin a nod as they pass by the bar; his friend's eyes are shuttered, taking in their clasped hands, but he turns to the patrons and slides over a milky-red shot. and then he and jongin are upstairs where it's quieter, yet somehow not any less tense, and they're pushing into an empty room.

jongin's hands are all over him in a second, unbuttoning his shirt. kyungsoo wants to tell him to stop, to ask why jongin has brought him here again ( _and that perennial question of what this thing between them is, what they are doing exactly, if they are meant to precipitate where all secrets lie after the truth has been spoken_ ), but he can't quite think through the surge of desire and arousal stoked back to life. it's not as though he objects to this. the things he needs to know aren't hinged upon understanding what is going on, and so against his better judgment, kyungsoo lets those thoughts slip away. he settles his hands on jongin's waist, then rolls to press him against the wall, thigh slotted close to the younger man's groin, and lips fixed on the tantalizing golden curve of his neck that he's been fixated on the entire show.

his fingers seek heated skin and jongin arches beneath his touch, an instrument ready to be played. the sounds he makes are a form of music, all on their own, breathy and climbing in volume. he tastes of musk, of sweat, of salt; he tastes like the only thing kyungsoo ever wants to taste, and he savors it even as he reaches down to fit his palm over the curve of jongin's ass.

"right here?" he asks, and it's soft compared to the roughness of their movements, their frantic pace.

he feels jongin nod before his whispered assent, feels him melt. and so kyungsoo wastes no time to do it _right here_.

 

 

it's close to midnight when jongin stirs in kyungsoo's arms. the bed creaks as he jolts in surprised confusion, and he looks around, blinking, though there's not much to see with the lights off. kyungsoo watches him in silence, waiting for the moment when jongin will tumble away. he doesn't. instead, he settles in further, and then he reaches up blindly to trace kyungsoo's jaw. kyungsoo's hand comes up to hold it still. 

there's something that aches here, twisting his heart like no other to see jongin being... vulnerable. his hand is warm in kyungsoo's; he debates pressing kisses to his knuckles, but when jongin shifts in his hold, he remembers where they are and what they are not, and so he pushes the instinct away as a chill washes over him. 

"thank you," jongin whispers, breaking the silence.

kyungsoo clears his throat. his voice still comes out rough when he asks, "for what?"

there's a beat where all they hear is the distant throbbing of club music, and jongin's other hand splays over kyungsoo's chest, idly drawing shapes on the skin there. kyungsoo holds back a shudder. now is not the time for anything more; they're both spent beyond belief. "you... make me feel real. _human_."

kyungsoo doesn't understand. his hand tightens around jongin's, and clasped together they drop down to the bed. "you _are_ human, jongin."

jongin shakes his head. he doesn't speak, and kyungsoo yearns to get inside that head, to learn those thoughts, until he knows what is making jongin feel this way. in what little light there is coming in from the windows, he can see the clench of jongin's jaw and the crinkling of his eyes, giving way to pain so sheltered that kyungsoo wouldn't have seen it if he hadn't been searching for it. he wants to reach out and wipe it off, but he also doesn't want to release his hold on jongin's hand. in this moment, it feels like the only thing that's anchoring them together. 

"jongin," he says, worry constricting his chest when the younger man still remains silent. "what's wrong?"

jongin licks his lips, and he looks at kyungsoo with a brokenness that's so clear all of a sudden, it leaves kyungsoo breathless. "you know this is all i can give you, this is my world," he says. it's the quietest thing kyungsoo's ever known, quieter even than silence. like the fall of a step, leaving. "we can pretend it's not true in the light of day, when we run into each other in bakeries and subway stops and convenience stores. but at night, kyungsoo, my body can only be held in this way. this is who i am."

"jongin---!" kyungsoo is scrambling, because _what is this beautiful boy saying_ , but jongin draws his hands away. in the absence of his touch, kyungsoo loses his words. it feels too much like rejection.

"don't," jongin whispers, "don't. i hear enough of that every day, from so many people, and just because you are more--" he cuts off his words, looks away, and kyungsoo has to hold back from demanding his gaze. jongin needs the distance, when they are as close as they are right now. "just because you're you, shouldn't make it any different. any more--true." 

"but you're not any less of a person," kyungsoo interjects unable to help himself. "and we don't, we can--it doesn't have to be here, jongin, you just have to say--"

fingers cross his mouth with silence. the look on jongin's face is unreadable, now; he's closed to kyungsoo, again, and that leaves kyungsoo helpless. "let's just sleep, kyungsoo." he pulls his hand away and settles back down. "let's just sleep."

kyungsoo doesn't want to. he doesn't want jongin to continue believing that, but already jongin is turning away, though he remains in kyungsoo's hold. the curve of his spine relaxes; his body rises and falls as his breaths remain steady, even. 

it is hours before kyungsoo falls asleep.

 

 

that night becomes the first domino to fall, and then all others follow. 

kyungsoo hesitates to call it a routine. it isn't as basic as that, though it is as essential--when he runs into jongin on the subway, and they ride out the line to their respective stops with small talk about the weather and nuggets of information about each other. the bakery, on wednesdays and thursdays, with the scent of sugar in the air to lend sweetness to conversations that come close, but never truly delve into, deeper topics. it is an education, these moments that come sweet, slow, bumbling, much like the smile that lights up jongin's face when kyungsoo's said the right thing.

jongin hates coffee; when kyungsoo has a styrofoam cup of it on the way to work, he wrinkles his nose at the scent alone, though sometimes he can be coaxed into drinking the brew with milk mixed in. it doesn't taste like coffee, when kyungsoo tries it. it's more of a coffee-flavored milk drink, but there's something smug about jongin's smile when he talks about conquering caffeine, and so he keeps his thoughts to himself. jongin likes to sketch, and he's good at it in an unpracticed way, lines sparse but precise. he draws a bear, a cat, a dog, and once, kyungsoo with his back to the window of the bakery. other days, like when they're in a convenience store, kyungsoo becomes privy to little things: that jongin has dogs, hence the collars in his basket; that jongin barely cooks, so he has packs of ramyun and cartons of eggs and, once, a bottle of honey that kyungsoo questions but doesn't inquire after; that he's the kind of person content to read a book on rainy afternoons, like on that day kyungsoo drops by a bookshop to get out of the downpour and finds jongin leaning against a shelf, focus buried in a novel. kyungsoo's not sure why he's collecting these anecdotes like they're stamps, but to him they're worth keeping. moments are made less immortal when memories thin out, the same way paper ages, and the wearing away of varnish on wood. 

then there is the flip side on weekends. saturday nights become a whole other routine, with kyungsoo in a club regardless of whether or not jongin is starring in the strip show. there are the nights when the air is less hazy, less suffocating, and he and jongin sway together on the dance floor after taemin has regaled them with stories and increasingly exotic shots. and then there are the nights that feel corroded, intruded upon--when jongin is frantic beneath his calm demeanor, always a plea in his eyes, and kyungsoo gives into it. either way, there's lust. call it by any of its other names: desire, eroticism, arousal. flames for bones, burning low in bellies, and kyungsoo has made a decision to not fight it.

on the nights when jongin is-- _happier_ , there is no other word for it--the touches are patient, gentle; they feel almost like the love that kyungsoo refuses to say, the love that he can feel, but not quite read, from jongin. he is enamored with those moments, luxuriates in the silky pleasure they always leave him with, when jongin is safe and reassured and his skin holds no bruises except those that kyungsoo leaves behind. jongin is relaxed, and he almost always finds a reason to nuzzle kisses into kyungsoo's neck and card his fingers through his hair. 

but then, kyungsoo can come on a night of storms. he can come when jongin is bitten and bruised, under his skin or wearing physical signs of it, and the touches then are just that much more desperate. jongin is seeking salvation, but kyungsoo cannot absolve a soul already without sin. neither can he condemn what the very ground they stand on encourages, nurtures, like weeds in a bed of flowers. when the sex feels like love, kyungsoo worships every inch of jongin's body, turns him mindless with an affection he craves to profess, his caresses as holy offerings. but when the sex feels like retribution, like penance, kyungsoo hardens. it is what jongin needs, that roughness as punishment, each thrust into him a little more violent than the last.

( _but never hurtful, never truly painful. kyungsoo makes sure. he makes sure to give jongin what he needs, skirting the edge of it, but in each movement it is as though he says,_ for me, you do not have to pretend. _he nips between kisses, and his fingers hold on tight, but in the midst of it all, kyungsoo finds ways to reassure. as though he is building an oasis just for jongin, when he is surrounded by so many reasons for him to curl up in kyungsoo's arms and breathe, just breathe, lungs expanding and contracting. kyungsoo doesn't say out loud that he is glad jongin is alive, or that he is beautiful. instead he traces_ you're human _over and over on jongin's arm, though jongin's never showed any signs of recognizing the words._ )

after, kyungsoo does not sleep. he just watches jongin's eyes close, waits for his breaths to even out, as his body seeks out kyungsoo's hold. then, he draws aside the sheet and, stifling the fury that's building with ever night he arrives to this, he counts the bruises. commits them to memory. and then he lays his lips on each one, as though kisses can heal wounds. 

all of this, and yet, kyungsoo cannot call it a routine.

because sometimes, jongin does not come around. he isn't there in the places where they, by implicit agreement, meet. not all subway rides have jongin in them, distracted by dogs and reading off headlines on people's newspapers, chuckling as he leans into kyungsoo. the bakery is cloyingly sweet when jongin is not there. kyungsoo hates to admit it, but when he's alone, he orders jongin's coffee-flavored milk, because then jongin doesn't feel ephemeral and made-up. in convenience stores, kyungsoo will find himself missing the odd assortment of items that jongin will always end up carrying and offer no explanations for, something that kyungsoo likes because it means there will always be more to learn. except on the days when jongin doesn't show up; on those days, kyungsoo turns right back out so maybe he can come tomorrow and find jongin walking along the aisles, as usual, long and lean and too young, too bright.

denial has many faces. kyungsoo continues to live in feigned ignorance.

 

 

friday morning dawns with jongdae sitting at the secretary's desk instead of soojung. kyungsoo blinks, taking in that particular absurdity, and then he strides past.

"hey!" jongdae yells, indignant. kyungsoo hears his friend follow him to his office. he takes the time to put aside his bag, arrange himself in his chair, and pull a stack of documents closer. "aren't you going to ask where soojung is?"

kyungsoo doesn't even look up. "where is my dependable, punctual secretary who, by the way, isn't you?"

"i got her to get me breakfast," jongdae says, and then drapes himself on the chair in front of kyungsoo's desk.

"soojung's my secretary, not yours."

"i told her it was your breakfast."

his friends do not have a single ounce of shame.

"why are you here?" kyungsoo asks, when too many minutes pass without jongdae saying a word. he keeps his gaze on the documents he's signing off, but his goosebumps form as he feels jongdae continuing to look at him. he's being examined, he knows; and perhaps, he also knows the reason why. 

"how's jongin?" the question falls, abrupt, and kyungsoo stills.

"why are you asking me?" he keeps his tone light, even. 

"soojung has been worried, you know," jongdae says. "she's seen you together a lot of times before. but don't get mad at her," he adds when kyungsoo bristles, "she isn't following you or anything like that. there are just days when she spots you and jongin in a subway; she was in _overdose_ a couple of weeks ago. i came here, intending to check up on you, and she asked me if i knew the man you were with."

kyungsoo's hands clench into fists. "soojung knows jongin?"

"she has a friend. who has been... a client, let's say."

those words come as a blow. all of a sudden, there is pain--creeping, insidious--and kyungsoo doesn't even know where it's coming from. there's an emotion twisting through him, tangling him up in knots, and he tries to swallow down his uneasiness before jongdae sees even a hint of it. he's been trying to not think about it, but-- _client_. despite everything, despite the many times he and jongin have been together out in the light, it still feels like their relationship is defined by what they keep in the dark. _client_. is that what he is, to jongin? is everything part of what he does for everyone who pays?

a rational part of him breaks it down, argues that jongin isn't like that. that what they have together, what they refuse to name, isn't meaningless. even if kyungsoo has to pay every time, even if jongin's eyes are filled with guilt and shame, even when he knows that there are others who enter that room before and after he does. there must be _something_ there, cultivated over cups of coffee-flavored milk and questionable groceries and newspaper comic strips. the vulnerable, happier jongin he knows is one he gets to keep to himself.

but does kyungsoo really know jongin?

"i hate you," he whispers.

"you don't hate me, you hate talking about this, confronting it." a pause. "kyungsoo. look at me."

kyungsoo doesn't want to, but he looks up anyway, and it's a thousand times worse because jongdae is looking at him with a mixture of pity, of worry, of compassion. 

"will you tell me?" jongdae asks, and in that moment, kyungsoo has never felt more grateful to have him here even when he's not wanted. he's not sure he can speak the truth, otherwise.

and so he does. he begins on the day jongin first drags him up the stairs, lingers on the weeks he doesn't hear from him, and the conversation with taemin. he tells jongdae about seeing jongin again, the secrets left unturned in the bakery. then fine weather and storms, in a blur: jongin in bookshops, jongin eating ramyun, jongin so beautiful in the meandering half-light; and jongin in tatters, jongin barely holding himself together, jongin begging for roughness and pain. jongin not believing that he is human. jongin disappearing, some days, and how kyungsoo feels raw after, emptier. he exhausts it all. when he's done, it's barely been 30 minutes, even if it seems like he's lived a lifetime a hundred times over.

"i told you to be careful," jongdae says, and it is the closest that he will ever come to a reproach. "kyungsoo, this is destroying you. if he can't reciprocate--you have to stop. you can't live like this forever."

kyungsoo closes his eyes, and he remembers jongin last saturday, all his edges blurred. "i can't." there's a click as he swallows, his throat too dry. "i--sometimes i wish he would--but i have no right. we're not like that. and i know it, i made a choice to accept it, even if i want... it doesn't matter what i want."

"kyungsoo--"

"it's fine." kyungsoo's eyes snap open. jongdae is leaning closer to him, hand lifted in an attempt to reach out. "it's fine. this is just--lust. it will pass." _it has to pass_ , he thinks. it has to pass, it has to be just lust, just surface-level attraction because if it's any deeper than that, kyungsoo will not survive this. he will not survive jongin. 

"it's not just lust," jongdae says, his eyes knowing. kyungsoo wants to burn that look off his face and the searing truth of it. wants nothing more than to pretend that jongdae is giving voice to what he cannot. "and i know you know that it's not."

the laugh that escapes kyungsoo's lips is hollow, and it surprises the two of them. "i don't have that luxury, see? it has to be lust. otherwise, it will be--it will be _that_ , and i can't, it isn't possible, because who can feel that for an illusion, for an in-between? for someone you're not quite sure will stay. i just wish..." he trails off.

"you wish it were real, concrete. something you can hold on to." 

kyungsoo can't even bring himself to nod; to imagine. jongin, coming to him of his own free will; the intimacy, shared in kyungsoo's bed instead of in a club, unpaid for because what they have isn't a transaction but an actual relationship.

but that isn't how they work and, as far as kyungsoo can tell, despite jongin's actions, it's not what jongin wants for them.

jongdae sighs. "you're jumping off of a cliff, my friend. just know you can talk to us, alright? we worry about you." he comes round to kyungsoo's side of the desk and removes the documents from his reach. "come on, let's catch up to soojung at the shop and have breakfast there instead. then maybe you can rant more to me."

kyungsoo accepts the offer. it will take his mind off of his inner turmoil for a while yet.

 

 

maybe it's jongdae's warning from the day before, but there's a tension threading through kyungsoo when he steps into _overdose_. jongin isn't performing tonight. he's by the counter, talking to taemin, and kyungsoo allows himself a moment to admire jongin's form in a black vest with a deep neckline, legs in loose black pants, a gleaming choker at his neck. jongin's always gorgeous, but sometimes, like tonight, he looks almost ethereal; a god descended to earth. jongin turns and catches kyungsoo's gaze with a smirk, and kyungsoo sends him a smile in return. maybe this tension is ill-founded. he makes his way over to the bar and orders a shot of whiskey.

"dance floor tonight?" he asks. he wants to settle a hand on jongin's waist, but in public it feels too... proprietary, somehow, and kyungsoo still isn't sure about touching jongin without jongin asking for it first. the younger man is always the one who initiates physical affection between them.

he does so now, reaching out to briefly clasp hands with kyungsoo before coming closer into the circle of his arms. "if you're joining me," he says, in almost a purr, and kyungsoo has to hold back the almost primal urge to bury his face in jongin's neck and simply breathe in his scent.

"oi, get your drinks before you start anything," taemin snorts, annoyed, from behind the counter. 

jongin and kyungsoo break away, laughing, and they both down their shots. kyungsoo's just about ready for another, but jongin's gaze has turned heated. he shakes his head, and then he walks to the dance floor, gaze remaining on kyungsoo until they're in the thick of it. kyungsoo can't really dance--he's no chanyeol, all flailing limbs; he is coordinated, and he has rhythm, but none of it compares to the easy sensuality jongin has, the knife-sharp precision of his movements. kyungsoo's throat feels dry when jongin's eyes are shuttered, like this, and his arms are thrown over kyungsoo's shoulders as he rolls his body. it's so easy to transplant him into a setting with a bed, where he's riding kyungsoo until he comes, but this is wonderful in its way. jongin is a prodigious dancer, if kyungsoo is honest. his lines are fluid and his expressions are sincere. he's flushed and sweaty from dancing in no time, and his smile is blinding.

"let's get a drink--"

"oh, sweetheart, you've been naughty."

jongin goes rigid. he's taller than kyungsoo, too tall for him to be able to see behind him, but he still finds the hand that's circling over jongin's waist, making its slow, purposeful descent to his groin, and neither can he miss the twist of fear and distaste on jongin's features. 

"why are you wasting your pretty little ass on this squirt?" the voice is slimy. kyungsoo hates it with all his being. "come on, i'll buy your time, it will be worth it--" and then another hand jerks jongin around and pushes him to his knees, guiding his terrified face to the crotch of a stocky man whose skin is flushed red by inebriation.

kyungsoo isn't sure what comes over him. there's the club, and flashing lights, and smoke, and music; there's jongin, on his knees and in near tears, so, so afraid; and then there is an endless red haze. he can hear--shouting, he thinks, and he hopes jongin isn't hurt, but that man will pay, _he has to_ , for treating jongin like that, like he's any less than _fucking_ priceless, and kyungsoo doesn't care at all about the man's body parts being completely rearranged. there are blows, somewhere, and a snarled, " _how dare you?_ " that he feels burst out from his lips. blooming hurt. the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. but all of that is reduced to the encompassing red haze (" _don't treat him like that_ ") and commotion (" _he's worth ten of you, hundreds, thousands, millions_ "), and his knuckles are aching so fiercely (" _you don't get to force him to do anything he doesn't want to do_ ")--still it's fine, he can take it, as long as jongin is alright, and safe, and cared for. kyungsoo is getting him out of here; he'll do anything.

then arms are hauling him backwards, and he must be the one growling. "you need to calm down," someone says, the tone urgent, in his ear, and kyungsoo recognizes that voice as belonging to taemin. the red haze has dissipated somewhat. he watches, breathless, as that hateful man is hauled up, his face a bloodied mess. _it's not enough_ , kyungsoo thinks, and he is way past the point of being concerned about being locked up for assault. he needs to find jongin. he needs to--needs to protect him, keep him in a place where he's not forced to do things, _where is jongin_ \--

"we'll take it from here," a familiar voice says, and kyungsoo's attention is caught in time to see jongdae, baekhyun, and chanyeol step into the scene. the bouncers are beginning to disperse the onlookers. chanyeol goes up to them, and they begin arguing over something that kyungsoo cannot hear. taemin lets go of kyungsoo, and baekhyun is there in front of him, steadying him.

"breathe, kyungsoo," baekhyun says. "and don't come after the man again, he's an asshole but you've done him a number, and you're in enough trouble as it is."

kyungsoo wants to protest, that jongin is worth more than any sort of trouble, but taemin cuts in with, "he's lucky that the club has a policy against coercion of its employees. they'll let this pass, for now, though he may be suspended from entering the club for a while."

"where's jongin?" kyungsoo demands, and just as he says it, he sees the younger man: pale, still in shock, head down as he leans against taemin with his friend's arm around him to hold him up. "is he... jongin, are you--"

"chanyeol's still settling things with the bouncers, but i've already talked to the club owners," jongdae says, wrapping an arm around kyungsoo's shoulders. baekhyun is now fluttering anxiously over him, wiping kyungsoo's face with a handkerchief that comes away bloody. "i know you don't like it when we intrude, but i'm glad we visited the club tonight, after all you told me yesterday. are you alright?"

there's a rushing in kyungsoo's ears. he can barely comprehend jongdae's words when jongin just seems so small, drawn in, even as taemin tries to comfort him. he looks... haunted, and it makes kyungsoo ache. and it sinks in, then, what has happened: his rage, his fists, with jongin only just shoved out of the way as blows are exchanged. it sickens him, that jongin must be avoiding his gaze because he's frightened of what kyungsoo's become.

"we should get jongin out of here," he says, unmindful of baekhyun still trying to clean up his wounds. "i'm fine, but jongin is..."

jongdae squeezes his shoulder. "let's get you patched up, alright? i've taken care of it and bought off jongin's time for the rest of tonight. we can bring him home--"

"no," jongin says, and he looks just as surprised as the others that he's made any noise. kyungsoo steps towards him, beginning to reach out, but then he catches sight of his torn-up knuckles and it stops him in his tracks. will jongin even allow kyungsoo to touch him? "i don't want to go home," he whispers, and his gaze snags on kyungsoo. "kyungsoo and i need to talk."

"alright," jongdae says, "we'll bring you to kyungsoo's place, then."

it takes a while for chanyeol to finish talking to the bouncers and the man kyungsoo's just about punched to a pulp, and for taemin to make sure jongin will be fine. in that time, baekhyun finishes bandaging kyungsoo's wounds with a, "this is the best i can do. you should go to the hospital tomorrow." jongdae keeps asking after kyungsoo's well-being. 

he's still not quite sure how he's managed to find and keep his friends.

the ride to kyungsoo's apartment is quiet, save for baekhyun occasionally checking up on both jongin and kyungsoo. when the car pulls up at kyungsoo's compound, the three of them insist on staying to watch until they've made it inside. jongin is still mute, but he drifts closer to kyungsoo, always maintaining a point of contact between them. they need it, the two of them. kyungsoo does not let himself touch jongin anyway, knowing that jongin has to do it, because kyungsoo's punched a man and jongin's been forced to his knees, and there needs to be something tonight that jongin can control. can decide to touch, if he wants to.

the door shuts behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one last chapter left, i think, and maybe an epilogue if i feel up to it. next update will come in november! feel free to kick my ass if it isn't out by then. both my wrists are strained so i'm trying to lay off of my hands and gadgets a bit.


	4. Chapter 4

shadows creep into the room as soon as they're in it. kyungsoo fumbles for the light, but though it floods in, the sensation of heaviness remains. he watches as jongin slips off his shoes and takes in the apartment. 

it's a moment where kyungsoo feels exposed. aside from his three closest friends and his family, no one has come to visit, to see the walls upon which kyungsoo has left behind his stories. there's the neatness with which he keeps his belongings. black-framed photos on select surfaces. his sofa, tidy but lived-in, with jongdae's patterned blanket still thrown over it from the last time he'd languished through a hangover at kyungsoo's place, piles of books stacked on the coffee table beside it. the penguin figurines that his friends have given him over the years, as a joke then as a tangible reminder that they've thought of him, from forays into the world or corner shops downtown. on the armchair is a stack of freshly-ironed clothing he's yet to put away, which is uncharacteristic but has the potential to be the norm with kyungsoo's schedule nowadays. 

"somehow, your place both does and does not fit you," jongin says, quirking a half-smile at kyungsoo. the relief of seeing it crashes into kyungsoo the same way a tidal wave would. jongin is the sea, always, and storm--churning, with depths far-reaching, and no wayfarer will ever be able tell drowning from still-beating life. 

he somehow wants to press jongin some more for that observation, but decides instead to keep it. a lucky penny for an unlucky day. "is there anything you want? tea, water?" kyungsoo heads for his kitchen and busies himself with opening cabinets. "i have coffee, but i doubt you'll want it without a bucket of milk in."

there's a soft chuckle behind him that makes him feel warm. perhaps this is how it feels in the underbelly of the sun, he thinks, as he takes down a box of the pepero he keeps for guests. he keeps his hands busy, brewing tea and laying out the biscuits, ears picking up on the little noises jongin makes as he moves around the apartments. he can hear the soft _snick, snick_ of fingers brushing against photos, the rustle of a book's pages, and the light _thumps_ of bare feet on the floor. 

he's not sure where they will go from here, but the experience of it, of jongin in his home and safe and warm, if not totally comfortable, causes an odd, tingling feeling to curl up in kyungsoo's chest. 

"here," kyungsoo says, bringing over a mug of steamed milk to jongin and tea for himself, setting down the plate of biscuits on the coffee table. jongin freezes in his perusal of the penguin figurines. "thought we should have some food and drink."

the memories of the past hour loom in the background, almost called to exist in the room with them. kyungsoo pushes them away. he isn't sure how long jongin will stay here, or if he will have another opportunity like this again, pretending they are lovers playing house in a city of sharp edges. he sits on one end of the sofa, gesturing for jongin to join him. the stripper hesitates, hand trailing up his arm in a second of insecurity, before he chooses to sit near kyungsoo, a throw pillow between them. he reaches out to cradle his mug of steamed milk. 

kyungsoo's breath hitches at this show of trust. jongin is willing to be beside him, as close as they can be, despite kyungsoo being his sure that his anger must have laid the foundations for an impenetrable wall. and while jongin does seem tense still, his shoulders are looser. held less tightly. he seems to want to fold his legs under him on the sofa, but out of deference, he keeps them planted on the floor. 

silence settles over them. it's comfortable, though, and kyungsoo sinks into it as his mind slips into turmoil over wandering hands, and bended knees, and terror-stricken eyes. his knuckles are still stinging through the bandage that baekhyun's hurried wrapped them in. he feels a rush of gratitude to his friends, meddling though they are, because he knows they are ones to step in if he ever loses control.

"i dreamed of being a dancer."

kyungsoo isn't sure if he's allowed to look at jongin. he lifts his head and breathes in deep, uncertain, but there is an instinct within him that's telling him what jongin is saying is important. 

there's a soft chuckle from the man in question. kyungsoo can already map out the slight tilt of jongin's shoulder, the lowered brows, the self-deprecation that worms its way in, sometimes, even in moments pure and unquestionable. "since i was, i don't know, seven maybe, when i'd watched enough shows to tell which movements are to music, and which movements are for the sake of moving." 

kyungsoo smiles to himself. he can imagine a younger jongin with sweeter eyes, parked in front of the television, limbs attempting to copy performances. rawer, softer, than the way he dances now, as though the world is on his shoulders always.

"my parents were supportive. got me classes from the local dance studio, attended my recitals. but it was a small town--such a small town, and by high school there were far fewer opportunities for me to keep dancing," jongin says, and this time, kyungsoo allows himself to look. sorrow embraces the contours of jongin's reality, and his gaze is distant, unseeing, as he traces the rim of his mug. the milk is getting cold. "but there was someone. a teacher. took me aside, told me if i wanted to be better, i could go to the city, take more advanced lessons." he shrugs his shoulders. blinks. feels kyungsoo's gaze on him, and so he meets it with a shapeless smile. "sorry, this might not make much sense to you."

"it's alright," kyungsoo hears himself say. his hand twitches with the urge to reach out to jongin, to bury him in this sofa, away from the world and its ever-present disappointment. "i'm listening."

jongin regards him. there's a flash of a--a thing, kyungsoo can't tell what--in his eyes and he nods. "it's strange, you know," he says. he finally brings his mug up and takes a sip of his now-cold milk, but he doesn't even seem to notice. "ever since i got here, there's never been anyone i've told about this, except taemin. and only because he was my first real friend at the club." he shakes his head, rueful. "but i don't know what it is about you. you make me feel like i deserve to be happy. to be who i am." his eyelashes flutter as he gazes down at his mug. "like i could show you all the darkest, most secret parts of myself, and you wouldn't run away. you'd stay, and shine the light in, and i'd feel whole again. and i think, after everything, you deserve to know... things."

_you deserve to know me_ , is what he implies, and kyungsoo can't help it. he sets down his tea and angles himself to face jongin. licks his lips; he's never felt this nervous before. "will you let me hold you?"

jongin's eyes flash up to him. they widen. "hold me?"

kyungsoo tamps down the urge to retract his request. he can feel the redness creeping up on the back of his neck, at the expression on jongin's face, and at the sound of his own words. "just..." he swallows. there's no way of saying this that will make it better, but he holds on to the fondness pulling at the corners of jongin's lips. he doesn't know how to convey to jongin the need that's buzzing through him, to have skin on skin, to simply have jongin in the circle of his arms. "just lean back, and i'll... embrace you."

it takes a second for jongin to register what he's asking for, and kyungsoo sees him move before he even gives any explicit approval. jongin sets down his mug, then, with a smile that's all shy, he turns and scoots backwards, almost ending up in kyungsoo's lap. he's warm weight, golden, and kyungsoo feels as though he's outside of himself when he wraps his arms around jongin, pulls him close.

"okay?" he whispers into jongin's hair, feels it rustle as jongin finds a position he likes. 

"okay." jongin hums.

"you can keep... telling me. about things. i'll be right here."

through the fall of the curtain, kyungsoo can see the splatter of rain against the window. it's light, a weather bereft, and he can feel the chill slipping in through the cracks of the doors and windows. but he has this beautiful man in his arms, and it makes him feel less melancholic.

he can sense jongin gathering his thoughts, fumbling for the threads of his tale to pick it back up again. weave it out for kyungsoo's waiting ears. when it comes, it's tinged with sadness, gray all over yet somehow so vivid in the cadences of jongin's throaty recounting. he comes right back down to the day he'd told his parents he would set out for the city, how he'd clutched in his hand the piece of paper with a distant aunt's address, how he'd come knocking at her door to find only a sinkhole there and no forwarding address. in kyungsoo's embrace, he twists and turns his fingers as he talks of how he was just six months out of 19 and searching for any job who would take him--the hole-in-the-wall restaurant where he'd earned most of the callouses on his hands, the side streets he used to sweep as a janitor hired on by the city, and the countless doorsteps where he'd deliver packages.

"didn't want to my parents to know," he says, with another soft chuckle. "it didn't seem that important, i mean, and also i'd lost my phone the first few days so i didn't have any way of contacting them. but this one public library had computers, and i'd remembered my password for my e-mail, at least, so i sent them messages from time to time. told them i was auditioning, and so on. i wasn't exactly lying, either--i was auditioning for jobs. maybe i should have told them, but i didn't want them to worry."

jongin begins to trace patterns on kyungsoo's hand, resting on his knee, when he tells him of how the matron at _overdose_ had offered him a bartending job, that would pay better than all the other jobs he had put together. half a year of mixing drinks, of charming customers, of being a bystander at the special shows that the club had put on. how he'd learned from taemin how much a stripper earned. how the bright lights, the dizzying atmosphere, had tugged at him--so much like dancing again, music pulsing all around him.

"i've been doing it for years," he tells kyungsoo. he's quieter now. the rain has softened along with them, jongin sprawled over him as kyungsoo leans against the sofa, arms around the younger man's waist. "years, and now i've earned quite a lot. more than enough. but i no longer know where to go, or how else to be; i don't know how to be free." 

kyungsoo years to help him. to unlatch the imaginary lock in jongin's prison, let him be who he wants to be. let him unshackle himself from a world that will only control him, restrain him, instead of letting him be the innocent dancer inside. he's seen him move. he knows that it runs deep in jongin's blood, this desire. it's a gift he wishes jongin will let himself unwrap.

but to do that, he has to leave.

"and it's not like i'm sad all the time," jongin says, turning up a smile at kyungsoo. "i do have happy memories. but sometimes it hits me, what this job means. _is_." he swallows. the click of it is loud. "it's just--my body has always been paid for. it's hard to not see it as anything more than that."

"jongin," kyungsoo starts, and the younger man looks up at him, first, then wriggles around until they're facing each other, hands clasped between them. jongin straddles kyungsoo's lap, as the older man reaches out to cup jongin's face in his hands. he looks as though his walls have been dismantled: a war waged, and then forfeited, in his gaze. "you've gone through things that no human being ever should go through." kyungsoo pauses, choosing his words. the thing is, he's not sure that there's anything really he can say that is right, or will help. but he knows the feeling within him that's surging--anger, mixed with sadness, over jongin's words. it's not right that such a beautiful man should ever undervalue himself; should ever feel like his body is not his own. 

"i don't know how to say this, really, and i thank you for entrusting me with your story." he waits until jongin nods. he can see the stripper's fists clenched into the fabric of his pants."but jongin--know that i don't judge you for doing what you had to do. i wish the world was kinder, then, or that i'd met you, helped you, but you did the best you could with what you had to do." kyungsoo can't help himself; he lets his hand caress jongin's cheek, gauging his reaction, trying to let him know he can pull away if he's uncomfortable. jongin, however, sighs and leans in to the touch. "it will be difficult to leave. at this point, i know that while it's not the life you want, it's also the life you know, and it's frightening to step out of it. but jongin, i hope you know that there is a way out for you. that your body is your own. that you can leave, now, if you want to, and..." he licks his lips. looks into jongin's eyes to convey his sincerity. "...and i'll help you if you need me to."

the smile that lights jongin's face is infinitesimal, but it's still lovely to see, a minute upward arc of his lips. "i know," he says, with quiet conviction. "you've showed me all of these things, every day that i've been with you."

they don't talk as much after that, instead soaking in each other's warmth on the sofa. nothing more intimate than two bodies tangled together, kyungsoo fingers carding through jongin's hair, while jongin examines kyungsoo's hand in the light. when the rain dies down, they move to the bedroom to sleep. 

it's the next morning that unravels kyungsoo.

he wakes to the soft fuzz of jongin's hair against his neck, the taller man somehow curled up along the contours of his body. sunlight plays on the curve of his shoulder.eyelashes, starlike, against the portrait of his face. kyungsoo's throat feels dry, because the familiarity of it is enough to take him apart. this is something he's never wanted, in the entirety of his existence, but jongin is teaching him how to want. how to love.

he berates himself for having such thoughts. for all that jongin appears fond of him, it still doesn't mean that he wants to be in a relationship with kyungsoo. there are parts of himself that he has to learn to pick up. maybe he's only latched on to kyungsoo because he is the first one to show him kindness. it might not involve stronger feelings than that.

he looks at jongin against his sheets one last time, and then he disentangles himself to make breakfast. 

jongin joins him just as he's finished plating up, pressing the length of his body against his, breath gusting warmth over the top of kyungsoo's head. kyungsoo can feel his heartbeat speed up. then jongin pulls away, kyungsoo calms himself down, and together they make quick work of the eggs and bacon he's cooked.

kyungsoo tries to stop himself from cataloging the details of how jongin goes about his morning. he suspects the knowledge may wear down in the future, from constant revisits.

it's jongin who insists that he go back to the club, and though kyungsoo is reluctant, he knows that there are things jongin needs to settle. so he accompanies him on the walk downtown. it's difficult, watching jongin disappear through the door, but kyungsoo's talked to the bouncers and they've ensured that security will be tighter after last night's incident. besides, taemin will be there. kyungsoo knows the bartender will look out for jongin. 

he receives one last smile that jongin throws over his shoulder. then the door swings shut behind them, and kyungsoo waits a moment before he turns to make the walk back uptown.

 

 

he finds himself in deep thought often, in the week that follows. not about work, which kyungsoo thinks he should care about more, but he's learned how to multi-task a long time ago anyway. no, kyungsoo contemplates jongin, the wholeness of him and what he's come to know about the one person in his life he's never been prepared to meet. he thinks back to the day they met, in that alley swallowed whole by darkness, and the bedroom after. everyday collisions. jongin, lithe and warm and open, in subway trains or in convenience stores, on stage or sprawled on kyungsoo's lap.

he's spent so long explaining everything away: his feelings, the affection that creeps up on him when he talks to jongin, the rhythm of his pulse when he catches sight of him. it's easy enough to shake it off, easy enough to pretend that the kisses and butterfly touches and the slow churn of his stomach like a ship fumbling its way to harbor, to steady ground after weeks of wandering on open waters--easy enough to pretend that all of these things come down to lust and to want, and not to the itch that's taken up residence somewhere in kyungsoo's chest, a scrap of his heart that seizes up in a way that makes him think of brown eyes that dance along with a free soul. honestly, everything is just that tiny bit easier to take when he tells himself that jongin's a way to pass the time, and not the only thing that kyungsoo ever wants to have taking his time. 

(jongin can have it, he knows, jongin can have all of it, all of his time -- and if only he had enough to run the meter by jongin's bedside table right through to the end of his lifetime and beyond, kyungsoo would have done it. but then he would have needed to explain it, and to a boy who messes up the organization of his life and turns up in kyungsoo's dreams with limbs that somehow have music wrapped around them, rain making its home down the contours of his body, there are no words that will do. there are no words that jongin will accept, because jongin doesn't long for words and has no need for the promises in them -- he seeks touch, and he seeks storms, and he seeks movement. and none of those things, kyungsoo knows, will ever let themselves be caught in words.)

perhaps it's about time to admit it to himself. he's left his doors and windows open, for once in his life, and the storm has come as well. it's brewing now. in all honesty, it's probably been brewing since he's stepped out that door in the club, maybe before he's even caught sight of jongin. it must have been waiting, he thinks, to throw his world into disorganization. he can almost picture himself on his balcony, welcoming the rain and the thunder and lightning. there are clouds in his chest. 

he can't bring himself to say it out loud, not yet, but the reality of it is burned onto his thoughts. that he's... that he likes jongin, for more than a night, for more than just manufactured intimacy. that he wants him in his home, always, sleepy or smiling or upset and curled up in kyungsoo's arms. that he won't mind cooking for him, or attending his recitals. 

the problem is, he's just not sure if jongin will want the same things he does.

 

 

_faint heart never won fair lady_ , kyungsoo thinks to himself as he stands in front of the _overdose_ club doors. there are several things that are problematic about the sentiment, of course, like the fact that jongin is not a lady, and isn't a prize to be won. still, he's aware he regresses to inane literary quotes when he's nervous, and the thought of what he's about to do is enough to make him paranoid about having sweaty palms. he only just catches himself from wiping his hands down his trouser legs.

he runs through all the things he's planning to say. the thing about learning to be brave is that you don't get to do it in the uphill climb--it's only ever when you're close to the drop that it hits, and you have to let go of your fears or you have to fall back to try again another day. kyungsoo doesn't want to try again another day. he's pushed this aside for so long, refused to confront it; let the nothings build into some wayward, overgrown path. gardeners don't raze down tangled landscapes, though. they prune them, shape them, and coax them back into order. so here he is, standing in front of a club as though it is still the first time, and he takes a breath for courage and another for luck.

taemin is at the bar when he comes in. the bartender is serving a jollier group at the counter this time, ladies with bright red lipstick on who throw their heads back when they laugh to show off the pale arcs of their necks. kyungsoo is loathe to disturb taemin's round of flirtation, it looks like, but he's the only person here who might have a clue about where jongin is. he strides over and taps the counter go catch taemin's attention. the man looks at him with a quizzical expression on his face, before tossing a charming "i'll be back" at the ladies.

"jongin's not on tonight," he says, once he's across kyungsoo. "but if you're here for a drink, i've got something that i've been looking to test on someone."

"i know jongin's not on tonight," kyungsoo says. "is he here, though?"

"yes. he's upstairs."

for a split second, there's an unnamed _thing_ that hangs between them, that kyungsoo always tries his best to not think about: portions of time. bruises. wounds, deeper down and unseen.

"it's okay," taemin says eventually. he offers a warm smile. "he's just in today to talk to the others. not on duty. do you want me to ask him to come down?"

kyungsoo nods. he can't quite trust himself to speak, even as taemin bustles out from behind the counter and turns to the door that kyungsoo's all too familiar with. he sits down on the stool and wishes he'd at least let taemin fix him up a drink. there's a greater challenge here, he knows, than being brave and leaping off of a cliff, and it involves a young man who might not quite know what it means to be intimate with someone without there being an asking price. this part, he's not really thought through.

"kyungsoo?"

jongin settles down into the stool beside him. taemin passes by with a nod, on his way back to cater to the ladies all a-titter at his return. kyungsoo swivels his stool to face jongin and takes him in, because he knows that even if jongin doesn't say anything, he can still trust his eyes to pick out the little details. jongin looks safe, well-rested; his hair's soft around his face, nose scrunched as he notices kyungsoo scrutinizing him but remains still anyway, and he's wearing a checkered button down with tailored trousers and shoes that looks as though he crammed his feet in them last-minute. that last detail brings a smile to kyungsoo's face, and across from him, jongin mimics it.

"taemin said you were asking for me," jongin begins, the smile still on his face.

"yes," kyungsoo says. his throat feels dry. "thought i'd come collect on a promise that you made a long time ago." his eyes catch on the haphazard fold of jongin's collar, and without really thinking about it, he reaches out to fix it. he's not even looking at jongin when he asks, "would you go on that date with me?"

he's near enough to jongin that he feels the stutter in the younger man's breathing, the sharpness of his inhale. kyungsoo rights his collar and waits.

"i'm not dressed for that," is what jongin says, after a heartbeat, his hand coming up to rest on kyungsoo's shoulder. his voice is faint.

the relief crashes in like a wave. it isn't a _yes_ , but it isn't a _no_ either. "you're dressed well enough for it," kyungsoo says. his fingers linger just on the top edge of jongin's collar, brushing against the side of jongin's neck when he straightens up, and he doesn't miss the younger man's slight shiver at the sensation. "nothing too fancy. there's this new restaurant just a few blocks ahead that i've been meaning to try, and you've owed me a dinner date for a while."

"kyungsoo," jongin says, and stops. he bites his lip. kyungsoo waits him out, patient--he's always patient, when it comes to jongin, because jongin is starburst falling through cracks, losing himself before finding his way back again, and by now kyungsoo's learned that it's best to let him gather himself together. "i... do you know who it is you're doing this with?" he asks.

"yes," kyungsoo says. jongin's gaze shifts away, but kyungsoo taps the underside of his chin lightly, makes him look, holds his gaze. "of course i do. i'm doing it with you. that's what i've always wanted." 

_it's you i've always wanted._

he can see the uncertainty wavering in jongin's eyes. kyungsoo doesn't allow himself to fear, because he's seen the signs, he knows there's a foundation for this--he can hold on to it, he can believe in it. and if it fails, if it's imagined after all, he can say that he's tried. 

he's lost but he's tried.

jongin swallows, seems to think. kyungsoo lets go of his chin but the younger man's gaze chases after it, draws down to follow as kyungsoo places his hand on his thigh, before darting back up again to meet kyungsoo's gaze. he licks his lips--in nerves, it seems. 

"what kind of food does that restaurant serve?"

kyungsoo barely resists the urge to cheer. 

 

 

they walk together to the restaurant. for the first few minutes, jongin seems shy, hesitant even, but kyungsoo reaches over to loosely circle his hand around jongin's wrist. at that, jongin readjusts his hand so that their fingers are entwined, and kyungsoo smiles as he talks about how last week, jongdae had dropped by his office and sent his files in disarray. it had been a hassle, but he and soojung had it all sorted out--now kyungsoo has a reason for banning jongdae from entering his office unsupervised.

jongin talks about earlier times, happier times, the look in his eyes wistful as he talks about playing games with the children in his hometown, dancing in empty classrooms, and his mother's cooking on saturday afternoons. the stories are warm, and that makes sense to kyungsoo because they come from the core of who jongin is, kept sheltered from everything else that's come after. they talk about taemin and how he seeks jongin out to dance in the stripped down living room of his apartment, with a mirror instead of a sofa, and music coming from tinny speakers. when kyungsoo pauses for a moment, he feels a certain--contentment, that jongin is here, that he's sharing these things with kyungsoo, that he's just as afraid but also ready to walk forward.

the feeling stays through dinner, where kyungsoo learns about the tastes that jongin likes and the things he won't ever come near, the two of them drawing looks with their laughter and maybe just the simple fact of them being together. kyungsoo ignores it all. he revels in this feeling, in being with jongin softly, peacefully, the food gone in minutes. jongin insists on splitting the bill and kyungsoo acquiesces, because there are things that still have an asking price but maybe this is one way that can wipe off some of them in the slate of jongin's life. they talk through dinner about little things, about big things, about the reasons for kyungsoo's job and the nights when jongin stays out on rooftops to watch the stars or read books in the light of a single portable desk lamp. 

they talk, still, through dessert in an ice cream place further uptown. jongin licks away at a sliver that crosses the jutting bone of his wrist and it makes kyungsoo want to bless it, to bless him, but he holds back. because maybe they've started this off the wrong way, and maybe there's really ever no right way, but tonight he wants everything to be still. he wants these calm moments, sitting with jongin on the benches by the river, the cool evening wind blowing jongin's hair into his face. kyungsoo's so captured by the sight, he almost misses jongin's question.

"i'm sorry?" he chews the rest of his cone as jongin laughs midway through finishing his own.

"i said," jongin says, balling up the paper packaging that's come with his cone and handing it over for kyungsoo to throw into the wastebasket beside him, "what are your dreams?"

kyungsoo has to stop, to think. it's been a long time since he's really considered this topic. at the moment, one of his dreams is to be with jongin, no matter the pace, to build and build until they share something that will last. but that's not what jongin's asking, he knows. jongin's shared his dreams, and now he wants to know kyungsoo's, and kyungsoo wants to be just as open with him. just as honest.

"i've always wanted to write a book," he says. there are words in the lining of his mouth but kyungsoo has yet to find them; he tries, anyway, clumsy though they may be. "got the stories in my head, you know? but back then i didn't have enough skill, and then i didn't have enough time, and now... now i think i should pick it back up again, but i'm not sure how to." 

"maybe you need a muse," jongin teases, lightly, but there's appreciation in his eyes. "what kinds of stories?"

kyungsoo shrugs. "anything. everything. when i was younger it was about heroes, you know, the ordinary kind--your mothers or your fathers, the fireman who saves the cat stuck up in a tree. things i believed in, when i got older, stories that weren't being told. love," and he looks at jongin, "love and how i've never understood how much it hides, for something that almost everyone in this world is looking for. how sometimes we don't see it when it's right in front of us. when, even if we see it, we have to wait, we have to let it reveal itself, so it doesn't bloom before its time."

_like you_ , kyungsoo thinks to himself as he looks at jongin looking back at him. jongin is someone he wants to nurture so desperately, to grow him in the midst of storm and drought, to bring to him to leaf and budding flower and the entirety of self he is meant to be. he wonders if jongin can tell. he wonders if it needs to be said, or if it's more impactful this way, running in the lines between them, the synchronization of their breaths, the wind ruffling their hair and clothes. 

he can't read the expression in jongin's eyes. can't tell what it is that makes jongin stand up all of a sudden, pulling him along with him as he says, "there's someplace i want to show you." 

this time they're quiet, though their fingers are linked and kyungsoo is attuned to jongin's pulse against his. it's rush hour. cars are streaking by in light trails down the road, people are rushing along the sidewalks, and kyungsoo is here just holding jongin's hand. they make their way past night stalls and closing shopfronts, skirting the edges of high-rise buildings until they come to an apartment block. jongin smiles at him as he leads him through the well-maintained lobby with its sleepy guard. up the rickety elevator they go, harsh fluorescence reflecting off of chrome plating, and then they're stepping out into a deserted hallway. 

this is where jongin lives.

jongin doesn't say it, but kyungsoo can see it in the familiarity, the ease with which jongin navigates the way, the thoughtful tap of his shoe against his front door to ease it in a little before he jiggles the lock as he turns his key in. kyungsoo doesn't know what to expect, but he suspects it may not be exactly this: the lived-in feel of home, haphazard yet orderly in its way, as jongin toes his shoes off at the entrance.

"it's not much," jongin says, as he pads to the kitchenette in the corner after asking kyungsoo if he'd like anything to drink, "but i got this all on my own. i think that's something to be proud of."

kyungsoo takes in the posters of dancers, the spines of dvds and cds crammed on jongin's shelves, the stacks of thumbed-through books sitting in random spaces. he accepts a glass of water from jongin as he turns to scrutinize the comfortable leather couch and a display of three stuffed bears on the windowsill. it's naked, an opening to jongin he hasn't thought he'd wanted to see, but it's here and it's real. 

"you must be wondering why i brought you here."

he turns to look at jongin. the younger man is standing, the lines of his being uncertain in the bowl of light that the overhead lamp throws down, and he's fiddling with the hem of his shirt. kyungsoo waits.

jongin sighs. "we've never..." he hesitates, expression flickering. "we've never done it--simply, i should say. without strings."

it hits kyungsoo, then, what jongin wants to ask of him. like a last-minute revelation, the prayer before the tide comes in. his throat is dry. "it's okay to ask."

jongin exhales. he shakes his head, then comes closer, then closer still, until he's right in front of kyungsoo--a solid body, a fragile heart. "kyungsoo, i... i just want one night with you that's not paid for."

there are a lot of things that kyungsoo wants to say. that jongin's never need a paid night with him, that he's never been here for that kind of relationship nor wanted it, but he swallows it down. he tunes them out. goes up on tiptoe, instead, to press a butterfly kiss to jongin's nose bridge and whisper, "of course." leads him to the room with more kisses and closes the room behind him.

he thinks--they have time.

 

 

(it's later when it happens. when kyungsoo forgets to keep looking. when jongin and he are sated, intertwined, when jongin burrows his face into the stretch of skin where kyungsoo's shoulder meets his neck and whispers something there that kyungsoo can't trace, can't speak, can't name. the slight shudder of jongin's breath. warmth between them, all around; a bubble of peace.

even later, when he's at the door, and jongin once again breathes conviction into his hidden corners, something that sounds like: "wait for me."

kyungsoo laughs at the joke that jongin follows with after, louder than the rest of the words he's said/not-said between them, and kisses jongin on the lips again. says goodbye. walks away.)

 

 

jongin disappears little by little.

kyungsoo doesn't notice it at first. when it takes jongin a while to respond to his texts after their date, he brushes it off, because jongin's never been that good with messaging anyway. it's shaping up to be the work week soon, and kyungsoo comes in to a shitstorm the monday after, and until friday he's swamped with files and irate superiors. he sends jongin texts daily, tries to call some days, but jongin never answers and kyungsoo's too busy to chase after him. besides, he can drop by _overdose_ to see him.

until taemin pays him a visit. it's a shock, when kyungsoo returns from a meeting with the director, to come back to taemin waiting for him. his mind rushes through the scenarios, heart beating faster when it sinks in just how long jongin's gone without communicating with him when they'd seemed to part on good terms that day. he tries to not let his rising panic show as taemin unfolds himself from his seat and gazes back at kyungsoo with an expression that's on the knife edge of control.

"he's gone," taemin says, and kyungsoo feels frozen. 

"he's gone," taemin says again, equal parts stricken and accusing and worried, "not in his apartment, not answering his messages, he's nowhere to be found. his contract with _overdose_ is void. no one knows where he is. _what did you do that day_?"

"we went on a date," kyungsoo says, defensive, because jongin had been happy then, hadn't he? he'd laughed and smiled and shares pieces of himself with kyungsoo, and all of this must not be the reason why he's gone. if they are, then kyungsoo's fucked up. kyungsoo must have hurt him, and, and--and that's not something kyungsoo can quite accept. he can't ever live with himself for hurting jongin in any way.

taemin gazes back at him. "this happened after that day. you must have said something, done something."

"i didn't do anything except take him on a date," kyungsoo snaps. his hands are clammy with nerves. he strides over to his desk and begins rearranging the files, trying to keep his mind from racing down the highway of memories, tainting every memory of his date with jongin, darkening it to a point where he no longer knows if jongin had liked any part of it all. but his mind keeps getting caught on small details, like--the sincerity of jongin's smile, the softness of his gaze, his skin sliding bare against kyungsoo's in moonlight and shadows. he thinks of his whispered gratitude at the end of it, the feelings shifting between them. he remembers himself thinking, then, that this is where they turn, that this is when they learn to breathe. kyungsoo may doubt himself on any number of things, at times, but his instincts are rarely part of them. "he hasn't been answering me."

"but why would he have gone without even telling me anything? not leaving a clue at all?"

the heartbreak in taemin's voice is enough to make kyungsoo stop his pretension at busyness. in this moment, he can feel the weight on taemin's shoulders as one of jongin's first friends in this place, in the life he's led in a city of demons. he's fought through just as much as jongin has, and though kyungsoo can feel hurt at what's happening, at taemin's veiled accusations, he understands somehow. he is the new variable in the equation. he must be the potential trigger for anything and everything that jongin has done--no matter how untrue the sentiment may be, he can't quite blame taemin for thinking this way. 

"is there any other place he would have gone? you said his contract is void." kyungsoo takes out his phone. in situations like this, his friends--jongdae, especially--are the ones who know how to work their way through systems, who can at least offer comfort if not solutions. there must be something about that contract. perhaps an unsavory occurrence, perhaps the club owner had gotten angry at jongin, in which case they need to move _now_.

taemin shakes his head. the suspicion isn't entirely gone from his stance, but he seems willing to believe kyungsoo, even a little. "no, it's usually just his club or the apartment. jongin doesn't do out of town trips much. his network's not that wide besides, we circle in the same grapevines, but no one has heard anything. i can't tell if it's because of someone," he upticks a glance at kyungsoo that kyungsoo raises an eyebrow at, "or because he himself has decided to move. _but he still should have said something_."

in private, kyungsoo agrees. that day, that night--he'd thought that would have meant he'd be one of the first people jongin would run to in these times. still, he doesn't know what's happened, and he wants to trust in jongin yet. faith is a hand that deals its cards alongside the fall of luck, and kyungsoo will have to hope that it bears its weight when he begins to search for jongin.

 

 

they start out small. in back-alleys, around jongin's apartment building, in the shops he frequents. the days pass but the search continues; not even the club owner knows where jongin's headed after voiding his contract with a sum of money enough to widen his eyes, and the leads they do scrounge up are pointed to nowhere. jongdae pulls his connection, and baekhyun and chanyeol each try to widen the net further, but they find nothing. it gets to a point that enough days pass for taemin to see that kyungsoo is just as clueless about this, that he's not behind jongin's disappearing act.

kyungsoo still texts. he calls. each time it's a dial tone but he doesn't give up. there are words, and then there's silence, and for as long as jongin's not given sound, kyungsoo will keep searching. there's a part of him that's afraid, that maybe this is about the fight in the club or something akin to it. maybe jongin has debtors after him, or previous clients.

on nights when he's restless, kept awake by both dream and remembrance of a boy with music in his veins, soft and sweet yet all harsh edges, kyungsoo thinks--maybe it's jongin. maybe it's not about anything that any of them has done, maybe it's not about people coming after him. maybe it's just about a lost soul trying to find its port in the fog, hitchhiking through the byroads of greater heights. maybe jongin needs space. maybe jongin's only reason for leaving is himself.

but if that's true then kyungsoo is powerless. if that's true, perhaps he hasn't earned either jongin's trust, or at least his confidence. whatever this is may just be a journey jongin has to take on his own, but it breaks his heart, because though he's now starting to believe that this is what's happened, it just cements further the thought that jongin may have feelings for him but will not stay for him. that he will not stay for anyone.

one weekend it rains so hard that shop fronts close down in unison, a symphony of surrender to nature. kyungsoo pads to his balcony in his pajamas. it hurts now, this storm--it no longer is a place of calm for him, when it reminds him of who jongin is, in the sheets of rain coming down and the wind blowing through. jongin's a hurricane and kyungsoo's ignored one storm warning too many. he's left here now, the aftermath always a picture of devastation. yet regret is far from his mind.

his feelings are tangled up. sometimes it gets hard to breathe when he tries to wrap his hands about them, to start untwisting. still kyungsoo doesn't regret, because to regret means to never want to have met jongin at all, and that's not the case for him. he can curse the past that's led jongin to where he is now, but it's also led jongin to him. and there's a poignancy to that hurt, somehow, that pain--it's given him the times when he's happiest, as well, given him the sides of jongin that's been kept from sun too long, and for a while he's been privileged to nurture those. it's gifted him with a boy that's more emotion than flesh, with movement drawn down every line of his body, and kyungsoo's glad to have known him, to have been with him somehow.

he doesn't want to pin jongin down. jongin is thunderstorm, is life unfettered, is love still finding its way. kyungsoo may not have been more than a side path in his ongoing road. and though jongin is always coming and going, and there's a part of kyungsoo that's as angry with him as it is in love with him, he doesn't want him captured by time and place. it's like this rain, pouring, and kyungsoo treasures it for the way it cleanses him even as it stings against his skin and brings him new wounds in the morning. he's past thinking of relationships as normal threads to pick up and venture into, after all. people are chaotic beings, and so are any liaisons with them, and feelings are just as hard to bring to heel. 

he'll hurt, and he'll break, but he'll learn. he'll forgive. he'll tuck the thunderstorm in bed and carry it home with him.

 

 

it's on that weekend that kyungsoo decides to let the search go at last. if jongin needs help, he'll have asked for it. if jongin comes back--well, he has to do it first, because until then kyungsoo doesn't quite know what he'll do.

he settles back into the rhythm of his routine. files papers with soojung, navigates more irate bosses, sends taemin encouraging messages because he's finally quit his bartending job and is now applying for his jobs. jongdae, baekhyun and chanyeol continue to drop by. for a week they'd been almost quiet, as though in mourning, but eventually they stop leaving behind yellow roses and tubs of kyungsoo's favorite ice cream, and returns to the status quo of impromptu hangouts. kyungsoo doesn't keep running his fingers over the cracks that he knows are there. it's wiser to let them close on their own. before you know it, they've scarred over, and it's time to peel the bandages off.

he still doesn't much like going to bars, but jongdae drags him to one on a slower friday, along with soojung. mostly it's because jongdae wants to flirt with someone, and baekhyun and chanyeol are on the precipice of something bigger all on their own, so kyungsoo is there more as moral support than as effective buffer. it's a nice club, slow and nice and easy to jump into, jazz music playing as people engage in lighter conversations over smoking cocktails. he comes up to the bar, not really looking for anything. a drink off the menu, he thinks, as he watches jongdae coast the crowd with a flustered soojung at his side as both bait and savior. he smiles to himself as he leans over to order.

he feels hands come around his waist. there's shock, first, then indignation, and kyungsoo whirls around to confront--

jongin is standing there, face leaning back in anticipation of kyungsoo's retaliation. his hands are still snug around kyungsoo's waist. 

kyungsoo can't speak. he just stares, and jongin stares back, as though he can tell that kyungsoo needs time to take him in. accepts the way kyungsoo's gaze roves over his features--relaxed, unharmed, almost bemused--and stays still when kyungsoo reaches out to run his fingers through his hair. 

"you're still good-looking, what the fuck," is what comes out of kyungsoo's mouth. his mind refuses to process anything else. 

jongin laughs in surprise. he nods at the bartender, taking the drink that kyungsoo's ordered, and holds it for kyungsoo to take a cautious sip from. "i was going to just answer your messages, instead, but i saw you and jongdae walk into this club so i followed."

"answer my messages," kyungsoo repeats. his chest is in turmoil. he thinks he should breathe, but jongin is back and he's here, without explanation as always because he's _jongin_. kyungsoo hates that about as much as he loves jongin. 

( _still_? his mind asks, and kyungsoo says, _still_. there are things you can forgive and try to move on from, but not things you can easily forget. they will always find a way to cling to you.)

jongin's gaze softens, turns apologetic. "i'm sorry," he says. he puts the drink down. "i know it doesn't even cover how much of an asshole i've been but--i wanted to do it first, on my own. without telling anyone. i wanted it to be something i did for myself, before i could come back to you and ask, maybe if you'd still be willing to take me." he exhales. "if you'd still be willing to be with me."

kyungsoo blinks. he tries to not linger on jongin's words, but on: "something you did for yourself?"

jongin nods. "i bought off my contract," he says, "the day after." he bites his lip. "thought to myself, after everything you've done for me, maybe it's time i made my way. i've been afraid of stepping out of my comfort zone, but you've showed me that there are ways out if i look for them. so i disappeared for a bit--record's not too good with the state because i did strip for a living, and anyway, i finally did it." he takes kyungsoo's hand. "i did it, kyungsoo. i sent an application to dance school, got a new lease, made friends. worked on being better. i'm starting in a few weeks, and i wanted to share it with you."

"i'd have helped you," kyungsoo says, but the rushing is so loud in his ears that he can barely hear himself.

jongin's gaze is warm. "i know. but it's something i had to do for myself. when i'd fixed it, when i'd fixed myself, i'd come back to you."

kyungsoo swallows. there's a lot here, a weight between them, that will not be moved aside. yet there's also relief, the almost visceral gratitude at having jongin safe in front of him (because a part of him's still been afraid). and it's not going to be that smooth. it will nudge at him, sometimes. it will come upon him in unpredictable moments. but he says, his hands clenching around jongin's wrists, "i'm not going to forget it that easily, you know. you left without saying anything. how could you know you'd have something to come back to?"

"i know. i'll work for it. i'll chase after you." there's a sadness in jongin's gaze, at the same time that there's warmth. one day kyungsoo will understand it. 

it isn't nearly enough, and they both know it, but right now they know it has to be. kyungsoo shakes his head. utters the one thing that's been on his mind since the day taemin had come to his office, because it's been driving him crazy, this not knowing: "i'm glad you're safe." _i'm glad you're home._

the feelings pass like water through them. lift and fall. in kyungsoo's mind, it's vessel to vessel, it's two sides to a scale. it's jongin, now, pulling kyungsoo to the dance floor, murmuring explanations between beats. it's the laughter that kyungsoo can see in the future after the rain passes, when they've worked through all they have to work through, when they're finally pared down to who they are and built to be all that they can be. for now what they have is this intangible belonging; for now, kyungsoo will outline a map of forgiveness, and jongin will sail the seas of his inner turmoils. they will find their harbor. storm warning: the foghorn blares, and there's cloud cover for miles but they're swimming upriver, still charting their safe passage.

it's not an ending, perhaps. not neat ribbon to tie their story up with, if kyungsoo has to write it into novel and poem and lingering shadow; not all clean. there are things they will fight about. kyungsoo still has his hurt, and jongin will want to run sometimes, but.

but it's a beginning. it's the parting of the clouds after the downpour. he and jongin will weather through it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so here we are, come full circle. sometimes I think about how I shouldn't have taken this long to finish a fic like this, but I think this is when I confront the fact that if I'm not pursuing art/creative works full-time, I'm always going to struggle with interruptions when I write/create. I know this may not feel like the end for you; maybe there's a lot more you want to see. but for me this has always been the point I've been driving towards, the start of something rather than the whole of it. maybe I'll come along with an epilogue later, who knows. for now, though, landfall has come to its conclusion, and I'd like to thank each and every person who has ever stopped by to read it. it's made such a difference for this fic and for me, and you may not even know truly the extent of it. 
> 
> if there are things you'd like to know about in this au, you can always just drop comments. I may add in snippets later on, but mostly I'll just answer questions and theories and so on.
> 
> thank you for holding on.


End file.
